THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 


JAMES   J.   MC   BRIDE 


THE    STICK  IT   MINISTER 

AND  SOME  COMMON  MEN. 


THE 


STICKIT    MINISTER 


AND   SOME    COMMON  MEN 


BY 

S.   R.    CROCKETT 


Ncto  |lorli 
MACMILLAN   AND   CO. 

AND    LONDON 
1894 


Reprinted  March,  May,  August,  December,  1894. 


^  LETTER  DECLARATORY  TO   THE 
SECOND   EDITION. 

Dear  Louis  Stevenson, — It  is,  I  think,  a  remark  of 
your  own  that  the  imprudences  of  men,  even  oftener 
than  their  ill  deeds,  come  home  to  roost.  At  least,  if 
you  have  not  so  remarked  it,  you  have  not  lived  so 
long  without  observing  it.  Now,  in  some  wise,  you 
have  at  least  a  god-papa's  responsibility  for  the 
*'  Stickit  Minister,"  and  if  you  have  no  spoon  of  silver 
for  the  poor  fellow,  you  will  be  expected  at  the  least 
duly  to  hear  his  catechism. 

A  month  ago  when,  entirely  without  permission, 
I  dedicated  the  first  edition  of  my  prose  first-born  to 
you,  shame  kept  me  from  further  connecting  you 
with  what  no  one  but  yourself  might  ever  read.  As 
for  you,  I  had  you  in  a  cleft  stick,  as  you  shall  presently 
hear.  But  now  a  second  edition  and  a  preface  impera- 
tively required  have  together  thawed  my  blateness. 
But  it  occurs  to  me  that  you  may  deny  any  parental 
responsibility,  even  vicarious.  Well,  as  much  is  mostly 
done  on  these  occasions.  In  that  case  we  will  proceed 
to  lead  the  proof.  You  have,  no  doubt,  forgotten  a 
power  of  good  law  in  your  time,  and  might  have 
forgotten  even  more  had  you  ever  known  it.  But  not 
the  wit  of  the  Great  Lord  President  himself  in  his 
best  days  could  have  shaken  this  case  of  mine. 

Let  me  then  suggest  to  you  Saranac  Lake,  a  bleak 
sheet  of  ice  "  somewhere  in  America  " — east  winds, 
hotels  with  a  smell  of  cooking  in  the  corridors,  melting 
gnows,  and  mountains.     It  is  near  flitting  and  settling 


3  A  LETTER  DECLARATORY. 

day  with  you  there,  and  as  your  custom  is,  you  are 
owing  a  many  letters — to  me  among  others,  epistles  one, 
two,  and  three.  For  days  you  have  passed  your  desk 
with  a  kind  of  pride  and  wicked  pleasure  in  stubbornly 
defying  your  conscience. 

But  one  morning  in  the  gloaming,  Conscience  has 
you  down  before  you  were  fairly  awake,  and  right 
grimly  takes  certain  long  arrears  out  of  you.  Then, 
according  to  your  own  account,  your  cries  of  penitence 
might  have  been  heard  a  mile.  In  this  abased  condi- 
tion, the  Black  Dog  riding  hard  on  your  back,  you 
made  yourself  responsible  for  words  to  the  ensuing 
effect :  "  Write,"  you  said,  "  my  Timothy,  no  longer 
verse,  but  use  Good  Galloway  Scots  for  your  stomach's 
sake — and  mine.  There  be  overly  many  at  the  old 
tooth  comb  !  " 

Well,  'tis  scarce  fair  to  hold  you  to  it,  I  know  ;  but 
your  will  thus  fleeing  in  a  mere  sauve  qui  pent — 
conscience  hot-foot  after  you,  hectoring  with  victory — 
"  If  you  do^  ril  read  it  every  word  !  "  says  you.  And 
so  I  had  you. 

Often  when  in  my  turn  the  Black  Dog  hath  been 
upon  me,  and  I  seemed  to  see  plainly  that  no  Adam's 
son  would  ever  read  a  single  line,  least  of  all  a  reviewer 
— have  I  rubbed  hands  and  laughed  to  think  of  you  in 
that  spotless  linen  suit,  sitting,  as  you  imagined,  safe 
and  cool  under  whatever  may  be  the  Samoan  substitute 
for  a  rose. 

But  I  hold  to  my  pound  of  flesh.  Will  you,  nill 
you,  you  must  read — and  every  word. 

Nevertheless,  if  you  find  anything  here,  even  a 
thousand  sea  miles  from  good,  it  is  so  because  ever 
since  Saranac,  I  have  been  like  Macready  in  Edinburgh 
when  the  Great  Unknown  came  in,  "  playing  to  Sir 
Walter." 

S.  R.  CROCKETT. 

Penicuik,  Midlothian,  April  z^,  1893. 


CONTENTS. 


fAGB 

THE  STICKIT  MINISTER             ••••••  7 

ACCEPTED   OF  THE   BEASTS 15 

TRIALS    FOR    LICENSE    BY  THE    PRESBYTERY    OF  PIT- 

SCOTTIE 28 

"THE  HEATHER   LINTIE "        ..«•••  3^ 

THE  SPLIT  IN  THE  MARROW   KIRK   .          •          •          t  53 

THE  PROBATIONER            ...••••  66 

THE  LAMMAS   PREACHING 79 

THE  TRAGEDY  OF  DUNCAN  DUNCANSON,  SCHOOLMASTER  9I 

WHY  DAVID  OLIPHANT  REMAINED  A  PRESBYTERIAN  I06 
THE     THREE    MAISTER    PETER    SLEES,   MINISTERS    IN 

THE   PARISH   OF   COUTHY                 .           .           .           .  II4 

THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAN    FAIRLEY,    OF  EARLSWOOD  I24 

JOHN  SMITH  OF  ARKLAND  PREPARES  HIS  SERMON  I33 
A  DAY  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  REVEREND  JAMES  PITBYE, 

MINISTER  OF  NETHER   DULLARG     .          .          •          .  142 

THE  GLEN   KELLS  SHORT  LEET .  .  .,#149 

3 


4  CONTENTS, 

rAGB 

BOANERGES   SIMPSON'S   ENCUMBRANCE  .  .  .    I59 

A   KNIGHT-ERRANT  OF  THE   STREETS  ,  .  .  I71 

THE  PROGRESS  OF    CLEG    KELLY,   MISSION   WORKER     .    181 

ENSAMPLES   TO   THE    FLOCK 202 

THE  SIEGE  OF   M'LURG'S   MILL  .....  2l6 

THE  MINISTER  OF  SCAUR   CASTS  OUT  WITH  HIS   MAKER  231 
JOHN   BLACK,   CRITIC   IN   ORDINARY        .  .  .  .   241 

THE   CANDID    FRIEND  ....,,  250 

A  MIDSUMMER   IDYLL        ...,„,,  259 
THE  TUTOR   OF  CURLYWEE  ..so         274 


To 

ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON^ 

of  Scotland  and  Samoa^ 

1   dedicate    these   stories 

of  that  grey  Galloway  land, 

wke}'e,  about  the  graves  of  the  Martyri, 

the  whaups  are  crying — 

his  heart  remembers  how. 


/  h^ish  to  acknowledge  a 
continual  indebtedness  to 
the  memory  of  the  reverend 
william  howie  wylie,  late 
editor  of  the  "  christian 
leader"  who  first  gave  hos- 
pitality TO  THESE  STORM- 
TOSSED  WAIFS  AND  EST  RAYS, 
THEY  ARE  REPRINTED  FROM 
THE  COLUMNS  OF  THAT  JOUR- 
NAL BY  THE  COURTESY  OF  HIS 
SONf    THE  PRESENT  PROPRIETOR 


THE  STICK  IT  MINISTER. 

THE    RENUNCIATION    OF    ROBERT    ERASER,    FOR- 
MERLY  STUDENT   IN    DIVINITY. 

The  crows  were  wheeling  behind  the  plough  in 
scattering  clusters,  and  plumping  singly  upon  the 
soft,  thick  grubs  which  the  ploughshare  was 
turning  out  upon  an  unkindly  world.  It  was  a 
bask  blowy  day  in  the  end  of  March,  and  there 
was  a  hint  of  storm  in  the  air — a  hint  emphasised 
for  those  skilled  in  weather  lore  by  the  presence 
of  half  a  dozen  sea  gulls,  white  vagrants  among 
the  black  coats,  blown  by  the  south  wind  up  from 
the  Solway — a  snell,  Scotch,  but  not  unfriendly  day 
altogether.  Robert  Fraser  bent  to  the  plough 
handles,  and  cast  a  keen  and  wary  eye  towards 
his  guide  posts  on  the  ridge.  His  face  was  colour- 
less, even  when  a  dash  of  rain  came  swirling  across 
from  the  crest  of  Ben  Gairn,  whose  steep  bulk 
heaved  itself  a  blue  haystack  above  the  level 
horizon  of  the   moorland.     He   was   dressed   like 


8  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

any  other  ploughman  of  the  south  uplands — rough 
homespun  much  the  worse  for  wear,  and  leggings 
the  colour  of  the  red  soil  which  he  was  reversing 
with  the  share  of  his  plough.  Yet  there  was  that 
about  Robert  Fraser  which  marked  him  no  common 
man.  When  he  paused  at  the  top  of  the  ascent, 
and  stood  with  his  back  against  the  horns  of  the 
plough,  the  country  man's  legacy  from  Adam  of 
the  Mattock,  he  pushed  back  his  weatherbeaten 
straw  hat  with  a  characteristic  gesture,  and  showed 
a  white  forehead  with  blue  veins  channelling  it — a 
damp,  heavy  lock  of  black  hair  clinging  to  it  as  in 
Severn's  picture  of  John  Keats  on  his  deathbed. 
Robert  Fraser  saw  a  couple  of  black  specks  which 
moved  smoothly  and  evenly  along  the  top  of  the 
distant  dyke  of  the  highway.  He  stood  still  for  a 
moment  or  two  watching  them.  As  they  came 
nearer,  they  resolved  themselves  into  a  smart  young 
man  sitting  in  a  well-equipped  gig  drawn  by  a 
showily  actioned  horse,  and  driven  by  a  man  in 
livery.  As  they  passed  rapidly  along  the  road  the 
hand  of  the  young  man  appeared  in  a  careless 
wave  of  recognition  over  the  stone  dyke,  and 
Robert  Fraser  lifted  his  slack  reins  in  staid  ac- 
knowledgment. It  was  more  than  a  year  since 
the  brothers  had  looked  each  other  so  nearly  in 
the  eyes.     They  were  Dr.  Henry  Fraser,  the  rising 


THE  STICKIT  MINISTER.  9 

physician  of  Cairn  Edward,  and  his  elder  brother 
Robert,  once  Student  of  Divinity  at  Edinburgh 
College,  whom  three  parishes  knew  as  "  The 
Stickit  Minister." 

When  Robert  Eraser  stabled  his  horses  that 
night  and  went  in  to  his  supper,  he  was  not  surprised 
to  find  his  friend,  Saunders  M'Quhirr  of  Drumqu- 
hat,  sitting  by  the  peat  fire  in  the  "room."  Almost 
the  only  thing  which  distinguished  the  Stickit 
Minister  from  the  other  small  farmers  of  the  parish 
of  Dullarg  was  the  fact  that  he  always  sat  in  the 
evening  by  himself  ben  the  hoose,  and  did  not  use  the 
kitchen  in  common  with  his  housekeeper  and  herd 
boy  save  only  at  meal-times.  Robert  had  taken  to 
Saunders  ever  since— the  back  of  his  ambition 
broken— he  had  settled  down  to  the  farm,  and  he 
welcomed  him  with  shy  cordiality. 

"  You'll  take  a  cup  of  tea,  Saunders  ?  "  he  asked. 

**  Thank  ye,  Robert,  I  wadna  be  waur  o't,"  re- 
turned his  friend. 

"  I  saw  your  brither  the  day,"  said  Saunders 
M'Quhirr,  after  the  tea  cups  had  been  cleared  away, 
and  the  silent  housekeeper  had  replaced  the  books 
upon  the  table.  Saunders  picked  a  couple  of  them 
up,  and,  having  adjusted  his  glasses,  he  read  the 
titles—"  Milton's  Works,"  and  a  volume  of  a  trans- 
lation  of  "  Dorner's  Person  of  Christ" 


lO  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

"  I  saw  yer  brither  the  day  ;  he  maun  be  gettin* 
a  big  practice  ! " 

"  Ay  ! "  said  Robert  Fraser,  very  thoughtfully. 

Saunders  M'Quhirr  glanced  up  quickly.  It  was, 
of  course,  natural  that  the  unsuccessful  elder  brother 
should  envy  the  prosperous  younger,  but  he  had 
thought  that  Robert  Fraser  was  living  on  a  different 
plane.  It  was  one  of  the  few  things  that  the  friends 
had  never  spoken  of,  though  every  one  knew  why 
Dr.  Fraser  did  not  visit  his  brother's  little  farm. 
"  He's  gettin'  in  wi'  the  big  fowk  noo,  an'  thinks 
maybe  that  his  brither  wad  do  him  nae  credit." 
That  was  the  way  the  clash  of  the  countryside 
explained  the  matter. 

"  I  never  told  you  how  I  came  to  leave  the 
college,  Saunders,"  said  the  younger  man,  resting 
his  brow  on  a  hand  that  even  the  horn  of  the  plough 
could  not  make  other  than  diaphanous. 

"No,"  said  Saunders  quietly,  with  a  tender  gleam 
coming  into  the  humorsome  kindly  eyes  that 
lurked  under  their  bushy  tussocks  of  grey  eye- 
brow. Saunders'  humour  lay  near  the  Fountain  of 
Tears. 

"No,"  continued  Robert  Fraser,  "I  have  not  spoken 
of  it  to  so  many  ;  but  you've  been  a  good  frien'  to 
me,  Saunders,  and  I  think  you  should  hear  it.  I  have 
not  tried  to  set  myself  right  with  folks  in  the  general, 


THE  STICKIT  MINISTER.  II 

but  I  would  like  to  X^lyou  see  clearly  before  I  go 
my  ways  to  Him  who  seeth  from  the  beginning." 

"  Hear  till  him,"  said  Saunders  ;  "  man,  yer  hoast 
[cough]  is  no'  near  as  sair  as  it  was  i'  the  back-end. 
Ye'll  be  here  lang  efter  me  ;  but  lang  or  short, 
weel  do  ye  ken,  Robert  Fraser,  that  ye  need  not  to 
pit  yersel'  richt  wi'  me.  Hev  I  no'  kenned  ye  sins 
ye  war  the  size  o'  twa  scrubbers  ?  " 

"  I  thank  you,  Saunders,"  said  Robert,  "but  I  am 
well  aware  that  I'm  to  die  this  year.  No,  no,  not 
a  word.  It  is  the  Lord's  will  !  It's  more  than 
seven  year  now  since  I  first  kenned  that  my  days 
were  to  be  few.  It  was  the  year  my  faither  died, 
and  left  Harry  and  me  by  our  lane. 

"  He  left  no  sillar  to  speak  of,  just  plenty 
to  lay  him  decently  in  the  kirkyard  among  his 
forebears.  I  had  been  a  year  at  the  Divinity  Hall 
then,  and  was  going  up  to  put  in  my  discourses  for 
the  next  session.  I  had  been  troubled  with  my 
breast  for  some  time,  and  so  called  one  day  at  the 
infirmary  to  get  a  word  with  Sir  James.  He  was 
very  busy  when  I  went  in,  and  never  noticed  me 
till  the  hoast  took  me.  Then  on  a  sudden  he 
looked  up  from  his  papers,  came  quickly  over 
to  me,  put  his  own  white  handkerchief  to  my 
mouth,  and  quietly  said,  '  Come  into  my  room, 
laddie  1       Ay,  he  was  a  good  man  and  a  faithful, 


12  THE  STICKIT  MINISTER. 

Sir  James,  if  ever  there  was  one.  He  told  me  that 
with  care  I  might  live  five  or  six  years,  but  it  would 
need  great  care.  Then  a  strange  prickly  coldness 
came  over  me,  and  I  seemed  to  walk  light-headed 
in  an  atmosphere  suddenly  rarified.  I  think  I  know 
now  how  the  mouse  feels  under  the  air-pump." 

"  What's  that  ? "  queried  Saunders. 

"  A  cruel  ploy  not  worth  speaking  of,"  continued 
the  Stickit  Minister.  "  Well,  I  found  something 
in  my  throat  when  I  tried  to  thank  him.  But  I 
came  my  ways  home  to  the  Dullarg,  and  night  and 
day  I  considered  what  was  to  be  done,  with  so 
much  to  do  and  so  little  time  to  do  it.  It  was 
clear  that  both  Harry  and  me  could  not  go  through 
the  college  on  the  little  my  faither  had  left.  So  late 
one  night  I  saw  my  way  clear  to  what  I  should  do. 
Harry  must  go,  I  must  stay.  I  must  come  home 
to  the  farm,  and  be  my  own  '  man ' ;  then  I  could 
send  Harry  to  the  college  to  be  a  doctor,  for  he  had 
no  call  to  the  ministry  as  once  I  thought  I  had. 
More  than  that,  it  was  laid  on  me  to  tell  Jessie 
Loudon  that  Robert  Fraser  was  no  better  than  a 
machine  set  to  go  five  year. 

"Now  all  these  things  I  did,  Saunders,  but 
there's  no  use  telling  you  what  they  cost  in  the 
doing.  They  were  right  to  do,  and  they  were 
done.     I  do  not  repent  any  of  them.     I  would  do 


THE  STICKIT  MINISTER.  13 

them  all  over  again  were  they  to  do,  but  it's  been 
bitterer  than  I  thought." 

The  Stickit  Minister  took  his  head  off  his  hand 
and  leaned  wearily  back  in  his  chair. 

"The  story  went  over  the  country  that  I  had 
failed  in  my  examinations,  and  I  never  said  that  I 
had  not.  But  there  were  some  that  knew  better 
who  might  have  contradicted  the  report  if  they  had 
liked.  I  settled  down  to  the  farm,  and  I  put 
Harry  through  the  college,  sending  all  but  a  bare 
living  to  him  in  Edinburgh.  I  worked  the  work 
of  the  farm,  rain  and  shine,  ever  since,  and  have 
been  for  these  six  years  the  *  stickit  minister '  that 
all  the  world  kens  the  day.  Whiles  Harry  did  not 
think  that  he  got  enough.  He  was  always  writing 
for  more,  and  not  so  very  pleased  when  he  did 
not  get  it.  He  was  aye  different  to  me,  ye  ken, 
Saunders,  and  he  canna  be  judged  by  the  same 
standard  as  you  and  me." 

"  I  ken,"  said  Saunders  M'Quhirr,  a  spark  of 
light  lying  in  the  quiet  of  his  eyes. 

"Well,"  continued  Robert  Fraser,  lightened  by 
Saunders'  apparent  agreement,  "the  time  came 
when  he  was  clear  from  the  college,  and  wanted  a 
practice.  He  had  been  ill-advised  that  he  had  not 
got  his  share  of  the  farm,  and  he  wanted  it  selled 
to  share  and  share  alike.     Now  I  kenned,  and  you 


14  THE  STICK  IT  MINISTER. 

ken,  Saunders,  that  it's  no'  worth  much  in  one  share 
let  alone  two.  So  I  got  the  place  quietly  bonded, 
and  bought  him  old  Dr.  Aitkin's  practice  in  Cairn 
Edward  with  the  money. 

"  I  have  tried  to  do  my  best  for  the  lad,  for  it 
was  laid  on  me  to  be  my  brother's  keeper.  He 
doesna  come  here  much,"  continued  Robert,  "  but 
I  think  he's  not  so  ill  against  me  as  he  was. 
Saunders,  he  waved  his  hand  to  me  when  he  was 
gaun  by  the  day  !  " 

"That  was  kind  of  him,"  said  Saunders  M'Quhirr. 

"  Ay,  was  it  no',"  said  the  Stickit  Minister, 
eagerly,  with  a  soft  look  in  his  eyes  as  he  glanced 
up  at  his  brother's  portrait  in  cap  and  gown,  which 
hung  over  the  china  dogs  on  the  mantelpiece. 

"  I  got  my  notice  this  morning  that  the  bond  is 
to  be  called  up  in  November,"  said  Robert  "So 
I'll  be  obliged  to  flit." 

Saunders  M'Quhirr  started  to  his  feet  in  a 
moment.  "  Never,"  he  said,  with  the  spark  of  fire 
alive  now  in  his  eyes,  "never  as  lang  as  there's  a  beast 
on  Drumquhat,  or  a  poun'  in  Cairn  Edward  Bank," 
bringing  down  his  clenched  fist  upon  the  Milton  on 
the  table. 

"No,  Saunders,  no,"  said  the  Stickit  Minister, 
very  gently  ;  "  I  thank  you  kindly,  but  fll  be  flitted 
before  that  I " 


ACCEPTED   OF   THE   BEASTS 

It  was  a  bright  June  day  when  the  Reverend 
Hugh  Hamilton  was  placed  in  the  little  kirk  of 
the  Cowdenknowes.  He  was  twenty-two  years  of 
age,  and  he  had  flushed  like  a  girl  of  sixteen  when 
he  preached  as  a  candidate  before  the  congregation. 
But  he  did  not  blush  when  he  was  ordained  by  the 
laying  on  of  the  hands  of  the  presbytery.  There 
was  a  look  of  the  other  world  on  his  face  as  he 
knelt  in  sight  of  all  the  people  to  receive  on  his 
yellow  hair  the  hands  of  the  assembled  brethren. 
Hugh  Hamilton  had  been  devoted  to  temple 
service,  like  Samuel,  from  his  birth ;  yet  there 
had  never  been  anything  of  the  "  pious  boy  "  about 
him  even  as  a  lad.  He  could  always  climb  a  tree 
or  run  a  race  to  the  top  of  the  Bow  Fell  with  any 
one.  He  w?3  therefore  never  lightly  treated  by 
his  companions,  but  as  he  had  not  been  known  to 
tell  a  lie  even  when  circumstances  made  it  ax- 
is 


i6  ACCEPTED  OF  THE  BEASTS. 

tremely  convenient,  nor  even  so  much  as  steal  a 
turnip — a  plant  in  which  there  are  no  rights  of 
property  in  Scotland — his  companions  had  long 
ago  decided  that  there  must  be  a  lack  of  sound 
morality  somewhere  about  him.  He  was  a  popular 
sort  of  boy,  but  was  not  considered  to  have  very 
good  principles. 

At  college  he  spent  most  of  his  time  in  helping 
the  laggards  of  his  companions  over  the  numerous 
examination  fences  that  barred  their  way — mere 
skipping-ropes  to  him,  but  very  five-barred  gates 
to  the  Rodericks  and  Dugalds  who  had  come  down 
from  the  hills  with  the  grace  of  God  in  their  hearts, 
a  bag  of  oatmeal  coarse  ground  for  brose  in  their 
wooden  boxes,  and  twelve  pounds  in  single  notes 
inside  their  waistcoats  to  see  them  through  the 
session. 

One  of  these  came  all  the  way  to  Hugh's  ordi- 
nation. He  was  now  the  Rev.  Roderick  M'Leod 
of  the  parish  of  Kilmuir  in  the  Lews,  and  he  made 
the  speech  of  the  evening.  It  ran  or  rather  hirpled 
somewhat  as  follows : 

"  I  hef  arose  to  speak,  no'  that  I  am  that  goot 
at  the  speakin',  but  I  can  not  gang  away  back  to  the 
Hielan's  an'  keep  silence  on  this  occasion.  For  if 
it  had  no  been  for  your  minister  and  the  kindness 
of  Providence,  it's  no'  here  that  I   would  hef  been, 


ACCEPTED  OF  THE  BEASTS.  17 

nor  yet  at  my  awn  manse  in  the  Lews  ;  but  it's 
sittin'  I  would  hef  been  on  a  stone  dyke  in  the 
Ross  of  Mull  keepin'  the  craws  aff  three  rigs  of 
pitawties.  If  I  could  speak  to  you  in  the  Gaelic,  I 
would  tell  you  the  feelin's  that's  in  my  heart  for 
your  minister,  but  the  English  is  no'  a  langvvage 
that  is  good  for  expressin'  the  feelin's  in.  I  hef  no 
wife  at  awl,  but  if  I  had  ten  wifes  I  wouldna  think 
ass  muckle  o'  them  ass  I  do  of  your  minister  for 
his  kindness  to  a  puir  lad  from  Mull." 

It  was  thought  to  be  a  very  happy  settlement, 
and  Hugh  Hamilton  felt  it  to  be  a  consecration. 
Had  he  been  called  to  minister  to  a  congregation 
of  the  angels  in  some  rural  parish  of  heaven, 
he  could  not  have  held  higher  opinions  of  his 
parishioners.  He  might  have  had  a  fair  chance  in 
the  garden  of  Eden  to  the  general  advantage  of 
the  race,  but  he  was  sorely  handicapped  in  the 
Cowdenknowes.  He  was  aware  that  all  men 
did  not  act  aright  on  every  occasion ;  but  Hugh 
considered  this  to  be  not  so  much  their  own  fault, 
as  a  proof  of  the  constant  agency  of  that  power 
which  worketh  for  evil,  of  which  he  was  almost 
morbidly  conscious  in  his  own  soul. 

His  first  sermon  was  a  wonder.  As  the  theolo- 
gical postman  said,  "  He  was  ayont  the  cluds  afore 
we  could  get  oor  books  shut,  oot  o*  sicht  gin  we 


i8  ACCEPTED  OF  THE  BEASTS. 

gat  oorsel's  settled  in  oor  seats,  an'  we  saw  nae 
mair  o'  him  till  he  said,  '  Amen.' "  But  Hugh 
Hamilton  knew  nothing  of  this.  He  had  been  in 
high  communion  with  the  unseen,  and  he  doubted 
not  that  each  one  of  his  hearers  had  accompanied 
him  all  the  way  and  seen  the  sights  of  the  seventh 
heavens  as  he  had  seen  them  that  day. 

As  he  walked  down  the  street  on  the  following 
day  he  swung  along  to  an  unheard  melody — the 
music  of  the  other  world  playing  in  his  ear.  But 
he  did  not  know  enough  of  this  world  to  catch  the 
eye  of  the  wife  of  the  richest  merchant  in  the  place 
when  she  had  got  all  ready  to  bow  to  him. 

"  An'  him  had  his  tea  in  my  verra  hoose  on 
Wednesday  three  weeks,  nae  farther  gane,  the 
prood  upstart  !  "  said  she. 

Hugh  Hamilton  went  on  to  the  deathbed  of  a 
child,  all  unconscious  that  he  had  made  an  enemy 
for  life.  But  Mrs.  Penpont  went  home  in  a  white 
rage,  and  told  her  husband  the  story  with  frills  and 
furbelows  of  adornment — how  the  new  minister 
had  "  slichtit  her,  the  Bailie's  wife,  that  had  taen 
twa  seats  in  his  kirk  juist  for  oblcegement — her 
that  was  a  laird's  dochter " 

"  I  wadna  work  the  auld  man's  kail-yard  ower 
sair  !  "  said  her  husband. 

"An'  you're  but   little   better,  Andra  Penpont, 


ACCEPTED  OF  THE  BEASTS.  19 

jibin'  an  jcerin'  at  yer  ain  marriet  wife,  you  that 
wad  hae  been  nocht  ava  but  for  what  ye  got  wi' 
me!" 

"  'Deed,  Jess,  I  wad  let  that  flee  stick  to  the  wa' 
gin  I  war  you.  A'  that  I  ever  gat  wi'  you  has 
been  paid  for  twa  or  three  times  ower  !  " 

But  Mrs.  Andrew  did  not  stand  fire,  for  her 
husband  knew  how  to  keep  a  tight  grip  of  these 
two  vast  forces  in  affairs  domestic — the  purse  and 
the  temper.  Great  power  is  given  to  him  who 
knoweth  how  to  keep  these  two. 

Hugh  Hamilton  was  not  a  great  success  in  the 
pulpit.  "  He's  far  ower  the  heids  o'  the  fowk,"  was 
the  complaint  laid  against  him  where  the  wiseacres 
most  did  congregate.  "  Withoot  doot  he  has 
graun'  heid-knowledge,  but  it's  no'  to  be  lookit 
for  that  a  laddie  like  him  should  hae  the  leevin' 
experience  o'  religion." 

But  he  had  a  mysterious  fascination  for  children 
of  all  ages.  They  recognised  that  in  somewise  he 
was  kin  to  them.  The  younger  they  were,  the 
stronger  seemed  the  attraction  which  drew  them 
to  the  minister.  He  seemed  to  be  a  citizen 
of  that  country  forth  from  which  they  had  lately 
voyaged.  There  were  a  dozen  of  them  ever  about 
his  knees,  listening  rapt  while  he  told  them  the 
simple  stories  which  pleased   them   best,  or  as  he 


20  ACCEPTED  OF  THE  BEASTS. 

sang  to  them  in  a  voice  like  a  heavenly  flute  or  a 
lonely  bird  singing  in  the  first  of  Spring. 

"  I  like  uae  siccan  wark,"  said  some, "  how  is  he  to 
fricht  them  when  he  comes  to  catechise  them  if  he 
makes  so  free  wi'  them  the  noo,  that's  what  I  wad 
like  to  ken  ?  "  "  Na,  an'  anither  thing,  he's  aye 
sing,  singin'  at  his  hymns.  Noo,  there  may  be 
twa-three  guid  hymns,  though  I  hae  my  doots — 
but  among  a'  that  he  sings,  it  Stan's  to  reason  that 
there  maun  be  a  hantle  o'  balderdash  ! " 

Meantime  Hugh  Hamilton  went  about  as  he  did 
ever  with  his  head  in  the  air,  unconscious  that  he 
had  an  evil-wisher  in  the  world,  smiling  with  boyish 
frankness  on  all  with  his  short-sighted  blue  eyes. 
There  was  not  a  lass  in  the  parish  but  looked 
kindly  upon  him,  for  Hugh's  eyes  had  the 
dangerous  gift  of  personal  speech,  so  that  the 
slightest  word  from  him  seemed  under  the  radiance 
of  his  glance  to  be  weighty  with  personal  meanings. 
If  one  heart  beat  faster  as  he  walked  down  the 
long  green  Kirk  Loan  with  May  Carruthers,  the 
belle  of  the  parish,  that  heart  was  not  Hugh 
Hamilton's.  He  was  trysted  to  a  fairer  bride, 
and  like  Him  whom  he  took  to  be  his  Master  in 
all  things,  he  longed  to  lay  down  his  life  for  the 
people.  But  he  was  too  humble  to  expect  that 
his  God  would  so  honour  him. 


ACCEPTED  OF  THE  BEASTS.  4i 

He  awakened  memories  of  that  young  James 
Renwick  who  died  in  the  Edinburgh  Grass- Market, 
last  of  them  who  counted  not  their  lives  dear  for 
the  sake  of  the  Scottish  Covenant  ;  but  he  had 
something  too  of  the  over-sweetness  which  marks 
certain  of  Rutherford's  letters.  His  was  a  life 
foredoomed  to  bitter  experience,  and  to  the  out- 
sider his  actual  experience  seemed  of  the  grimmest 
and  bitterest,  yet  he  never  thought  himself  worth 
even  self-pity,  that  most  enervating  draught  which 
any  man  can  drink.  Like  the  Israelitish  city  he 
was  ringed  round  with  unseen  celestial  defences 
and  passed  unscathed  through  the  most  terrible 
experiences. 

So  two  years  went  over  the  young  man's  head, 
and  to  the  few  who  best  understood  him  he 
seemed  like  an  angel  entertained  unawares.  But 
in  the  secret  darks  of  the  stairs,  in  the  whispered 
colloquy  of  the  parlours,  an  enemy  was  at  work  ; 
and  murderous  whispers,  indefinite,  disquieting, 
suggesting  vague  possibilities  of  all  things  evil, 
brought  with  them  the  foul  reek  of  the  pit  where 
they  were  forged,  paralysing  his  work  and  killing 
his  best  usefulness.  But  Hugh  Hamilton  wotted 
not  at  all  of  it.  What  threats  came  to  him  by 
the  penny  post  or  were  slipped  into  his  letter-box 
on  dark  nights,  were  known  only  to  himself  and 


22  ACCEPTED  OF  THE  BEASTS. 

his  Maker.  Probably  he  held  them  to  be  only 
what  he  must  expect  from  the  Accuser  of  the 
Brethren.  At  least,  he  made  no  sound,  and  none 
knew  if  he  suffered.  Elders  dropped  away,  mem- 
bers lifted  their  lines  and  went  to  other  com- 
munions. Only  his  Sabbath  school  remained 
unimpaired.  There  his  marvellous  voice  shrilled 
clearer  and  ever  clearer,  even  after  there  remained 
no  teacher  to  assist  him,  as  though  he  had  led 
his  little  flock  to  the  very  gate  of  heaven,  and  were 
now  pleading  with  the  Guardian  of  the  Keys  to 
let  the  children  in  straightway  to  their  inheritance. 
Children  of  strict  and  orthodox  parents  were  re- 
moved, but  the  Sabbath  school  remained  full.  For 
this  strange  young  minister,  a  fairy  changeling 
surely,  had  but  to  go  out  into  the  highways  and 
the  hedges  to  compel  others  to  come  in. 

Then  in  a  little  there  came  the  clamant  and 
definite  bitterness  of  the  "  Fama  Clamosa  " — the 
moving  of  the  Presbytery  which  had  licensed  and 
ordained  him,  by  his  ruling  elder  and  one  other 
of  the  congregation.  In  the  reverend  court  itself 
there  was,  at  first,  only  bitterness  and  dissension. 
Hugh  Hamilton  met  his  accusers  openly,  but  there 
was  no  fiery  indignation  in  his  defence,  only  a 
certain  sad  disappointment.  He  had  received  his 
first  backset,  and  it  told  on  him  like  a  sentence 


ACCEPTED  OF  THE  BEASTS.  23 

of  death.  His  faith  in  man  died  in  a  day ;  there- 
fore he  clung  more  closely  to  his  faith  in  a  God 
who  looketh  not  on  the  outward  appearance,  but 
on  the  heart. 

He  could  not  conceive  how  it  was  possible  that 
any  should  for  a  moment  believe  those  things  which 
certain  witnessed  against  him.  He  had  brought 
no  witnesses.  He  would  employ  no  lawyer.  If 
the  Presbytery  thought  fit  in  the  interests  of  the 
religion  of  the  parish,  he  would  demit  his  charge ; 
if  they  judged  it  right  he  would  accept  deposition 
without  a  word. 

But  Hugh  Hamilton  was  not  to  be  deposed. 
Suspended  during  inquiry,  he  still  did  the  few 
duties  which  remained  to  him,  and  visited  where- 
ever  there  was  a  door  open  for  him  to  enter.  There 
were  not  many.  This  was  for  him  "  that  Mount 
Sinai  in  Arabia "  beneath  which  his  Scripture 
told  him  the  Christ's  Man  must  a  while  sojourn. 

One  morning  the  farmer  of  Drumrash  v/ent  out 
early  among  his  beasts,  and  was  surprised  to  find 
them  grouped  in  a  dense  swaying  mass  about 
an  empty  quarry,  horning  and  shouldering  one 
another  in  their  eagerness  to  approach.  Mys- 
terious sounds  arose  from  the  whin-bound  quarry 
hole,  disquieting  even  in  the  cool  dawn  of  the 
morning.      The   farmer    crept    to   a   gap    in    the 


24  ACCEPTED  OF  THE  BEASTS. 

whin-bushes,  and  through  it  he  was  astonished 
to  see  the  suspended  minister  of  the  Covvden- 
knowes  with  a  face  all  suffused  with  joy,  singing 
words  he  could  not  understand  to  a  tune  no  man 
had  ever  heard  before  ;  while  about  him,  ever 
nearer  and  nearer,  the  "  nowt "  beasts  pressed, 
tossing  their  sullen  fronts,  silent  and  fascinated 
by  the  magic  of  the  singing.^ 

Then  the  farmer  remembered  that  he  had  heard 
tell  that  the  minister  had  wandered  on  the  hills 
singing  and  praying  to  himself  ever  since  they 
shut  the  door  of  his  Sabbath  school  against  him. 

Gradually  the  words  came  clearer — 

"  He  was  despised  .  .  .  despised  .  •  • 
And  rejected  of  men, 
A  Man  of  Sorrows, 
And  acquainted  with  grief** 

So  the  melody  swayed  and  thrilled,  breaking  for 
a  moment  into  delicious  heart-breaking  silences, 
anon  returning  with  thrilling  power,  like  the  voice 
of  a  martyr  praising  God  out  of  the  place  of  fire. 
Drumrash  felt  his  eyes  wet  with  unaccustomed 
tears.  He  had  never  heard  of  Handel,  and  if  he 
had  he  need  not  have  been  less  affected,  for  surely 

'  "Horae  Subsecivae."     By  Dr.  John  Brown.     2nd  series, 
p.  362. 


ACCEPTED  OF  THE  BEASTS.  25 

never  was  the  great  music  sung  in  such  wise  or  to 
such  an  audience. 


"  He  was  despisid  .  .  .  despisid  . 
And  rejected  of  tnen  ..." 


•  • 


The  lowering  foreheads  and  tossing  horns 
drooped  lower,  and  hung  over  the  singer  like  the 
surge  of  a  breaking  wave. 

*'  A  Man  of  Sorrows, 
And  acquainted  with  grief?' 

The  song  rose,  beating  tremulously  against  the 
sky,  till  the  listener  felt  his  heart  brimming  to  the 
overflow  ;  so,  abruptly  rising,  he  turned  and  fled, 
leaving  Hugh  Hamilton  alone  with  his  last  con- 
gregation. 

Two  hours  afterwards  a  shepherd  came  that  way 
by  chance  seeking  a  lost  lamb,  and  in  its  place  he 
found  the  minister  of  Cowdenknowes,  fallen  still 
and  silent,  his  face  turned  to  the  sky,  and  the  dew 
of  the  morning  yet  wet  upon  it.  There  was  a  light 
of  emancipation  on  his  brow,  for  he  had  seen  the 
Vision  which  every  man  shall  one  day  see,  and 
it  had  not  affrighted  him.  There  was  even  a  kind 
of  triumph  under  the  film  which  had  begun  to 
gather  over  the  eyes  of  translucent  blue. 

They  buried  him  at  his  own  expense  in  the 
deserted  kirkyard   at  Kirkclaugh,  a  mile  or   two 


26  ACCEPTED  OF  THE  BEASTS. 

along  the  windy  brow  of  the  sea  cliff,  looking  to 
the  sale  of  his  books  to  defray  the  cost.  There 
were  just  six  people  at  the  funeral,  and  one  of 
them  was  the  farmer  of  Drumrash.  But  the  whole 
countryside  stood  afar  off  to  see  what  the  end 
would  be.  Only  the  "  nowt "  beasts  came  gazing 
and  wondering  into  the  unfenced  and  deserted 
burying-ground  as  though  they  at  least  would 
have  mourned  for  him  who  had  drawn  them  about 
him  when  other  congregation  he  had  none. 
,  .  .  .  •  • 

Hardly  a  week  after  the  minister  was  laid  to 
rest,  the  dead  body  of  the  Strange  Woman,  whose 
accusation  had  wrought  the  ill — one  of  small  re- 
pute but  infinite  power  of  mischief — was  found, 
wave-driven,  at  the  foot  of  the  Kirkclaugh  Heuchs. 
On  the  cliff  edge  above  there  lay  a  hat  and  veil, 
the  latter  neatly  folded,  and  on  it  a  note  pinned — 

"  I  can  live  no  longer.  I  betrayed  innocent 
blood.  As  Judas  betrayed  his  Master,  so  I  sold 
him — yet  got  neither  money  nor  kiss.  Now  I  also 
go  to  my  own  place." 

The  minister's  books  fetched  enough  to  put  up 
a  little  tombstone  of  red  sandstone  simply  graver 
with  his  name  and  age.  But  the  farmer  of  Drum- 
rash  thought  it  looked  bare  and  unkindly,  so 
taking  counsel   of  no  man,  he   laid   his  wait  one 


ACCEPTED  OF  THE  BEASTS.  27 

day  for  Bourtree,  the  drunken  stone-cutter.  Him 
he  stood  over  with  the  horsewhip  of  coercion  till 
he  had  done  his  will.  So  now,  in  staggering 
capitals,  you  may  read  the  words — 

HUGH     HAMILTON, 

Aged  24  Years. 

''*^  He  was  despised  .  .  .  atid  rejected  of  inen.^ 

And  still  Hugh  Hamilton's  last  congregation  toss 
their  sullen  frontals,  and  nose  with  the  moist  and 
stupid  affection  of  "  bestial  "  the  crumbling  stone 
which,  on  that  wind-vexed  and  unkindly  promon- 
tory, tells  the  infrequent  wayfarer  of  yet  another 
"  Rejected  of  Men." 


TRIALS  FOR   LICENSE   BY   THE  PRES- 
BYTERY OF  PITSCOTTIE. 

When  I  cam'  hame  from  my  first  presbytery  at 
Pitscottie,  the  wife  was  awfu'  keen  to  ken  a'  that 
had  passed,  for  she  said,  "  If  it's  sae  graun'  to 
Hsten  to  yae  minister  on  Sabbath,  what  maun  it  no 
be  to  hear  a  dizzen  a'  at  yince  ?  "  But  there  was 
juist  where  my  wife  was  mistaen  that  time  what- 
ever, for  as  a  matter  o'  experience,  it's  a  moral 
impossibeelity  to  hear  ony  yin  o'  twal  ministers 
when  they  are  a'  speakin'  at  yae  time. 

But  I  said  to  Mrs.  MaWhurr,  "  Do  you  no'  think 
that  ye  had  better  wait  till  the  forenicht,  an'  then 
ye  can  hear  a'  aboot  it,  no  in  snips  an'  clippets? 
Rob  Adair  will  likely  be  ower  frae  the  toon,  for 
he  was  gaun  to  come  this  way  to  gie  a  look  at 
some  score  or  twa  o'  Kirkconnel's  yowes." 

So  in  the  efternoon  she  pat  on  a  bit  fire  in  the 
parlour  ben  the  hoose,  which  she  disna  do  unless 
we're  gaun'  to  hae  company,  and  by  the  time  that 

aS 


TRIALS  FOR  LICENSE.  29 

Rob  Adair  cam'  she  was  in  graun'  fettle  to  listen. 
For  ye  see  this  was  the  first  time  that  I  had  ever 
been  presbytery  elder,  an'  oor  minister  was  fell 
anxious  for  me  to  gang  doon  to  Pitscottie,  for 
there  was  a  lad  that  he  kenned  comin'  a'  the  road 
frae  Enbra'  for  leecense  to  preach  the  gospel,  an' 
the  minister  thocht  that  some  o'  the  auld  yins  o' 
the  presbytery  micht  be  ower  sair  on  the  young 
man. 

Rob  Adair  cam'  in  baith  wat  an'  dry,  an'  to  help 
baith,  got  a  change  o'  claes  an'  his  tea  oot  o'  oor 
best  cheena.  Then  when  the  pipes  were  gaun  weel, 
they  baith  looked  ower  at  me.  Brawly  kenned  I 
that  they  were  hotchin'  for  me  to  gie  them  the 
presbytery  ;  but  I  gaed  on  askin'  Rob  aboot  the 
price  o*  beasts,  an'  hoo  mony  lambs  had  been 
selled  on  the  hill  that  day,  till  my  wife  could  stand 
it  no  longer. 

"  Saunders  MaWhurr,"  says  she,  "  if  there's  a 
waur  tried  woman  than  me  or  a  mair  aggravatin' 
man  than  you  in  sax  pairishes,  I  dinna  ken  them." 

So  I  began. 

"Weel,  as  ye  ken,  I  was  no*  that  carin'  aboot 
gaun  to  the  presbytery  at  the  first  go-off,  but  oor 
minister  wadna  be  said  '  No  '  to." 

"■  An'  you're  no'  the  man  to  say  it  gin  he  war," 
said  the  mistress. 


30  TRIALS  FOR  LICENSE. 

**  She  means  that  me  an'  the  minister  'grees 
fine,"  said  I  to  Rob,  "though  he  wasna  my  man 
when  he  cam'  on  accoont  o'  his  giein'  oot  a  Para- 
phrase. This  was  my  opeenion  at  that  time  ;  he 
haes  a  harmonium  noo  i*  the  kirk,  an'  Alexander 
M'Quhirr,  Drumquhat,  was  the  first  name  on  the 
list  o'  subscribers.  Change  ?  —  I  wadna  gie  a 
whustle  for  a  man  that  canna  change  when  he 
fin's  he's  wrang  ;  so  it's  no  wonder  oor  minister 
an'  me's  verra  pack.  He  has  taen  me  a  lang  gate 
sins  him  an'  me  fell  aquant.  I  used  to  think  Jeems 
Carlyle  the  only  yin  o'  the  Carlyles  that  had  come 
to  ony  guid  [an'  deed  there  were  few  better  sheep 
in  Dumfries  market  on  Wednesdays  than  Jeems 
Carlyle's]  ;  but  oor  minister,  wi'  the  help  o'  the 
Almichty  an'  some  bulks  o'  Tammas  Carlyle, 
thrawn  stick  as  he  was,  hae  garred  anither  thrawn 
stick  o'  a  farmer  body  lift  his  een  abune  the  newt 
an'  the  shairn." 

"  Skip  the  minister,  an'  the  haivers  the  twa  o'  ye 
talk  aboot  auld  Tam — drive  on  wi'  yer  presby- 
tery ! "  said  my  wife.  In  the  generality,  ye  ken, 
I'm  ower  slow  for  the  wife  ;  she  kind  o'  likes  a' 
things  to  gang  forrit  gye-an'  sherp,  an'  wad  gar  a' 
the  hens  hae  their  layin'  dune  i'  the  mornin'  an 
their  nests  ma  le  afore  they  gaed  oot  to  pick  a 
single  corn. 


TRIALS  FOR  LICENSE.  31 

Yince  I  offended  her  sair  when  the  factor  was 
here  to  his  tea.  "  Hae  a  bit  o'  this  skim  milk 
cheese,  Factor,"  says  I,  "  it's  my  wife's  ain  makkin', 
an'  I'se  warrant  there's  neyther  dirt  nor  butter 
in't ! " 

"  Weel,  the  presbytery  be't,"  says  I,  for  I  saw 
that  my  wife's  patience,  never  verra  lang  at  the 
best,  was  comin'  near  an  end.  I  ken  the  length  o't 
to  a  hair  as  by  this  time  I  hae  a  good  richt  to  do. 
"  Weel,  the  coort  met  an'  was  constitutit." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  asked  Rob  Adair. 

"  Fegs,  I  do  not  ken,  ye'll  hae  to  ask  the  clerk,  it 
was  him  that  said  it,"  says  I,  "  an'  then  there  was 
reports,  an'  strings  o'  feegures  like  laddies'  coonts 
[sums]  ;  but  naebody  payed  muckle  attention,  but 
talkit  to  their  neebours  till  the  clerk  caaed  *  Order  ! ' 
Then  they  were  quaite  for  half  a  meenit,  an'  syne 
at  it  again.  Deed  the  clerk  talkit  too  when  he 
didna  mind." 

"  Deer  sirce,  an'  that's  a  presbytery.  I  thocht  it 
was  like  a  week  o'  sacraments  !  "  said  my  wife. 

"  Verra  far  frae  that,"  saj'S  I,  "  for  o'  a'  the 
craiturs  to  fecht,  doos  an'  ministers  are  the  maist 
quarrelsome." 

"  Did  oor  minister  fecht  ?  "  asked  the  mistress, 
verra  pointed. 

"  Na,  he  was  raither  a  peacemaker,  so  to  speak," 


3*  TRIALS  FOR  LICENSE. 

says  I,  cautious  like  ;  "  of  coorse  a  man  haes  whiles 
'  o  speak  his  mind." 

"  Ow !  he's  the  wee  white  hen  that  never  lays 
iway,  oor  minister,  I  ken,"  says  she,  dried 
like. 

"  Ye  never  war  the  bird  to  fyle  yer  ain  kirk 
riggin,"  said  Rob.  Whiles  I'm  feared  that  auld 
Rob  is  gettin'  a  wee  doited. 

"Yer  keepin'  me  frae  the  presbytery  wi'  yer 
haivers,"  says  I,  an'  that  made  them  as  quaite  as 
pussy.  "  Weel,  in  a  wee  it  came  on  to  the  leec^n- 
sin',  an'  the  laddie  frae  Enbra'  was  bidden  to  step 
in  alang  wi'  twa  ither  lads  frae  the  neebourhood 
that  had  compleetit  their  studies  at  the  college.  The 
Enbra'  laddie  had  been  an'  unco  graun'  scholar — 
had  gotten  the  Knox  Fellowship,  I  think  they 
caaed  it,  an'  was  noo  gaun  oot  to  be  a  missionar'  to 
the  haythen.  So  afore  they  could  let  him  gang 
they  bood  examine  him  on  the  Hebrew  an'  Latin, 
an'  ither  langwiges  that  naebody  speaks  noo.  I 
wasna  lang  in  seein'  that  the  lad  kenned  mair 
than  maybes  a'  the  presbytery  pitten  thegither. 
["  Surely  no'  than  yer  ain  minister  I"  pat  in  my 
wife.]  An'  for  the  life  o'  me  I  couldna  see  what 
they  could  fin'  faut  wi'.  The  ither  twa  were  nice 
lads  aneuch,  an'  they  hummered  an'  ha'ed  through 
some  gate,  but  the  Enbra'  lad  never  made  a  stam- 


TRIALS  FOR  LICENSE.  33 

mer,  an*  had  his  answers  oot  afore  they  could  read 
their  quastions  off  the  paper." 

"  But  I  thocht  that  they  war  a'  sair  again  the 
paper,"  said  my  wife. 

"  Weel,  sae  they  maistly  are,  but  some  o'  them 
are  maybes  a  wee  mair  comfortable  wi'  a  bit  note 
when  it  comes  to  the  Greek  an'  the  Laitin. 

"  At  ony  rate,  it  wasna  till  they  cam'  to  the  dis- 
coorses  that  there  was  ony  o'  the  kin'  o'  din  that 
oor  minister  was  sae  feared  o'.  The  laddie  was 
askit  to  read  yin  o'  his  discoorses — I  kenna  what  it 
was  aboot,  something  ony  wye  that  he  had  wraitten 
in  the  Laitin,  but  was  askit  to  read  in  the  English 
as  bein'  mair  convenienter  for  the  presbytery. 

"  He  wasna  half  wey  through  when  up  gets 
Maister  Begbie  frae  Soorkirk,  michty  door-lookin', 
an'  he  says, '  I'll  no'  sit  in  this  presbytery  an'  listen 
to  ony  siccan  doctrine,  frae  a  Knox  Fella'  or  ony 
ither  fella  1 '  says  he. 

"An'  wi'  that  Maister  Pitbye  o' the  Dullarg  gat 
himsel'  on  his  legs;  '  I  canna  help  thinkin','  says  he, 
'  that  we  wad  not  hev  been  asked  to  license  the 
young  man  noo  afore  us  if  he  had  been  considered 
soun'  in  the  faith  in  his  ain  presbytery.  There 
maun  be  something  sore  wrang,'  he  says. 

"  A'  this  time  the  young  man  had  been  standin' 
Wi'  a  face  like  daith,  his  lips  workin',  tryin'  to  get  a 


34  TRIALS  FOR  LICENSE. 

word  in,  an'  oor  minister  haudin'  him  by  the  coat- 
tails,  an'  tellin'  him  for  ony  sake  to  sit  doon,  that 
there  war  plenty  there  to  speak  for  him.  But  he 
got  awa'  frae  the  minister  an'  juist  on  Maister 
Pitbye's  heels  he  spoke  oot,  '  May  I  say  that  this 
discoorse  has  passed  through  Professor  Robertson's 
hauns  and  has  received  his  approval.' 

"Oor  minister  sat  back  wi'  a  look  in  his  face  as 
muckle  as  to  say  '  Ye  hae  done  for't  noo,  young 
man  ! '  Then  there  was  a  din  to  speak  about. 
There  was  Maister  Bangour  frae  Muldow,  an'  he 
was  a  wild  man  this  day.  *  Professor  Robison, 
indeed  !  I'll  learn  you,  young  man,  that  Professor 
Robison  has  nae  standi n'  i'  the  presbytery  o' 
Pitscottie,  an'  faith,  if  he  had  we  wad  libel  him  this 
verra  day,  for  he's  a  rank  heyretic,  leadin'  the  young 
men  o'  oor  kirk  astra}-  efter  strange  gods  1  Aye 
an'  I  wull  testifee ' 

"  'Sit  doon,'  says  Forbes,  the  new-placed  minister 
o'  the  Pits,  him  that  the  collier  lads  like  so  weel, 
'  testifee  in  your  ain  pairish  if  you  want  to  testifee  ! 
Talk  sense  here  ! '  says  he.  Forbes  is  a  deter- 
mined North-countryman  as  dour  an'  radical  as 
fire,  that  got  scunnered  at  hame  wi'  the  mair  auld- 
fashioned  o'  his  brethren  o'  the  kirk.  He's  no  a 
great  respecter  o'  persons  neyther.  He  looks  as  if 
he  had  focht  mony  battles  in  his  day,  and  by  his 


TRIALS  FOR  LICENSE.  35 

set  teeth  I  could  see  he  was  bidin'  his  time  for 
anither. 

"  Richt  gled  was  I  that  he  didna  mean  to  set 
them  in  me. 

"By  this  time  the  fiery  young  minister  frae  the 
Shavvs  was  on  his  feet,  and  wi'  the  strongest  words 
an'  a  power  o'  gesture  he  was  layin'  intil  them  on 
the  ither  side.  An'  they  were  speakin*  aye  back 
till  ye  couldna  tell  what  was  what.  But  I  watched 
Forbes  bidin'  his  time  wi'  a  face  like  a  grew  [grey- 
hound] when  he  sees  the  hare  but  canna  get  slippit. 

"  There  was  the  verra  sma'est  calm,  an'  then  like  a 
shot  there  was  Maister  Forbes  at  the  table.  Some  o' 
them  cried,  '  Hear  Mr.  Girmory,'  but  Forbes  said — 

"  '  No,  Maister  Begbie,  ye'll  be  hearin'  me  the 
noo.     Ye  are  makkin'  bonny  fules  o'  yersels.'" 

"  My  conscience,"  said  my  wife,  who  was  listen- 
ing with  her  whole  being,  "  was  he  no'  blate  to  say 
that  to  ministers  ?  " 

"  Hoots,  woman,  that's  nocht  to  what  he  said 
efter : 

"'Ye  are  pittin'  a  premium  on  mediocrity,'  he 
says.  '  Thae  ither  twa  chaps  ye  let  through  with- 
out a  word,  though  they  stammered  like  a  boy  new 
into  the  tenpenny.  But  ye  settled  on  this  lad 
because  he  was  clever,  an'  wrote  what  he  thocht 
himsel',  an'  didna  juist  tak'  twa-three  pages  frae  a 


36  TRIALS  FOR  LICENSE. 

sermon  o*  Spurgeon's,  or  water  doon  the  Shorter's 
Quastions,'  says  he.  '  As  for  you,'  he  says,  turnin' 
sharp  to  Maister  Pitbye,  '  ye  are  speakin'  on  a 
quastion  ye  ken  nocht  aboot  ava.  An'  ye  are 
weel  aware  ye  ken  nocht  aboot  it.  Gae  hame, 
man,*  he  says,  *  an'  read  yer  Calvin,  or  buy  a 
Turretin  an'  read  him,  an'  then  come  back  an'  gie 
us  an  opeenion  worth  Hstenin'  to  on  a  theological 
subject' 

"  'Order,  order!'  said  the  clerk,  but  the  moderator 
said  naething,  for  he  didna  want  Forbes  doun  on 
him. 

'"I'll  no'  be  spoken  to  in  that  mainner.  I've 
never  listened  to  sic'  words  in  my  life,'  said  Maister 
Pitbye. 

" '  The  mair's  the  peety,'  says  Maister  Forbes, '  it's 
time  ye  did — but  better  late  than  never  I ' 

*'  *  I  move  we  proceed  to  license,'  says  oor 
minister,  verra  quaite  ;  so  efter  a  show  o'  hands, 
an'  a  bit  grummle,  they  juist  did  that  ;  but  there 
was  some  warm  wark  efter  the  young  men  had 
gaen  oot,  an'  yince  it  lookit  as  if  the  neeves  micht 
sune  be  goin' ;  but  it  cleared  up  verra  sudden,  and 
when  a'  was  dune,  and  they  cam'  oot,  they  war  a' 
as  thick  as  thieves — an  Maister  Bourtree,  nae  less, 
gaed  roon  shakin'  hands  wi'  everybody,  an'  sayin', 
Whatna  graun'  day  we've  had  the   day;  there's 


TRIALS  FOR  LICENSE,  37 

been  some  life  in   Pitscottie  presbytery  this  day, 
something  worth  comin'  doun  frae  Muldow  for  ! ' 

"  But  I'm  no'  so  sure  that  it  was  as  great  fun  for 
the  puir  lad  frae  Enbra'.  He  said  to  mysel'  he  was 
glad  he  was  gaun  awa'  to  the  Cannibal  Islands, 
an'  no  settling  in  oor  pairt  o'  the  country." 


«  THE  HE  A  THER  UNTIE  :  - 

BEING    A    REVIEW    OF     THE     POEMS     OF     JANET 
BALCHRYSTIE,  OF   BARBRAX. 

Janet  Balchrystie  lived  in  a  little  cottage  at 
the  back  of  the  Long  Wood  of  Barbrax.  She  had 
been  a  hard-working  woman  all  her  days,  for  her 
mother  died  when  she  was  but  young,  and  she  had 
lived  on,  keeping  her  father's  house  by  the  side  of 
the  single  track  railway  line.  Gavin  Balchrystie 
was  a  foreman  platelayer  on  the  P.P.R.,  and,  with 
two  men  under  him,  had  charge  of  a  section  of 
three  miles.  He  lived  just  where  that  distinguished 
but  impecunious  line  plunges  into  a  moss-covered 
granite  wilderness  of  moor  and  bog,  where  there 
is  not  more  than  a  shepherd's  hut  to  the  half-dozen 
miles,  and  where  the  passage  of  a  train  is  the 
occasion  of  commotion  among  scattered  groups  of 
black-faced  sheep.  Gavin  Balchrystie's  three  miles 
of  P.P.K  metals  gave  him  little  work,  but  a  good 

38 


••  THE  HEATHER  UNTIE."  39 

deal  of  healthy  exercise.  The  black-faced  sheep 
breaking  down  the  fences  and  straying  on  the  line 
side,  and  the  torrents  coming  down  the  granite 
gullies,  foaming  white  after  a  water-spout,  and 
tearing  into  his  embankments,  undermining  his 
chairs  and  plates,  were  the  only  troubles  of  his 
life.  There  was,  however,  a  little  public-house  at 
"  The  Huts,"  which  in  the  old  days  of  construction 
had  had  the  license,  and  which  had  lingered  alone, 
license  and  all,  when  its  immediate  purpose  in  life 
had  been  fulfilled,  because  there  was  nobody  but 
the  whaups  and  the  railway  officials  on  the  passing 
trains  to  object  to  its  continuance.  Now  it  is  cold 
and  blowy  on  the  westland  moors,  and  neither 
whaups  nor  dark  blue  uniforms  object  to  a  little 
refreshment  up  there.  The  mischief  was  that 
Gavin  Balchrystie  did  not,  like  the  guards  and 
engine-drivers,  go  on  with  the  passing  train.  He 
was  always  on  the  spot,  and  the  path  through 
Barbrax  Wood  to  the  Railway  Inn  was  as  well 
trodden  as  that  which  led  over  the  big  moss, 
where  the  whaups  built,  to  the  great  white  viaduct 
of  Loch  Merrick,  where  his  three  miles  of  parallel 
gleaming  responsibility  began. 

When  his  wife  was  but  newly  dead,  and  his 
Janet  just  a  smart  elf-locked  lassie  running  to  and 
from  the  school,  Gavin  got  too  much  in  the  way 


40  "  THE  HEATHER  LINTIBr 

of  "  sHppin'  doon  by."  When  Janet  grew  to  be 
woman- muckle,  Gavin  kept  the  habit,  and  Janet 
hardly  knew  that  it  was  not  the  use-and-wont  of 
all  fathers  to  sidle  down  to  a  contiguous  Railway 
Arms,  and  return  some  hours  later  with  uncertain 
step,  and  face  picked  out  with  bright  pin-points  of 
red — the  sure  mark  of  the  confirmed  drinker  of 
whisky  neat. 

They  were -long  days  in  the  cottage  at  the  back 
of  Barbrax  Long  Wood.  The  little  "  but  and  ben" 
was  whitewashed  till  it  dazzled  the  eyes  as  you 
came  over  the  brae  to  it  and  found  it  set  against 
the  solemn  depths  of  dark-green  firwood.  From 
early  morn  when  she  saw  her  father  off,  till  the 
dusk  of  the  day  when  he  would  return  for  his 
supper,  Janet  Balchrystie  saw  no  human  being. 
She  heard  the  muffled  roar  of  the  trains  through 
the  deep  cutting  at  the  back  of  the  wood,  but  she 
herself  was  entirely  out  of  sight  of  the  carriagefuls 
of  travellers  whisking  past  within  half  a  mile  of  her 
solitude  and  meditation. 

Janet  was  what  is  called  a  "  through-gaun  lass," 
and  her  work  for  the  day  was  often  over  by  eight 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  Janet  grew  to  womanhood 
without  a  sweetheart  She  was  plain,  and  she 
looked  plainer  than  she  was  in  the  dresses  which 
she  made  for  herself  by  the  light  of  nature  and 


••  THE  HE  A  THER  LINTJE:'  41 

what  she  could  remember  of  the  current  fashions 
at  Merrick  Kirk,  to  which  she  went  every  alternate 
Sunday.  Her  father  and  she  took  day  about. 
Wet  or  shine,  she  tramped  to  Merrick  Kirk,  even 
when  the  rain  blattered  and  the  wind  raved  and 
bleated  alternately  among  the  pines  of  the  Long 
Wood  of  Barbrax.  Her  father  had  a  simpler  way 
of  spending  his  day  out.  He  went  down  to  the 
Railway  Inn  and  drank  "ginger-beer"  all  day 
with  the  landlord.  Ginger-beer  is  an  unsteadying 
beverage  when  taken  the  day  by  the  length.  Also 
the  man  who  drinks  it  steadily  and  quietly  never 
enters  on  any  inheritance  of  length  of  days. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  one  night  Gavin  Bal- 
chrystie  did  not  come  home  at  all,  at  least  not  till 
he  was  brought  lying  comfortably  on  the  door  of 
a  disused  third-class  carriage,  which  was  now  seeing 
out  its  career,  anchored  under  the  bank  at  Loch 
Merrick,  where  Gavin  had  used  it  as  a  shelter. 
The  driver  of  the  "  six-fifty  up  "  train  had  seen  him 
walking  soberly  along  towards  the  Huts  [and  the 
Railway  Inn]  letting  his  long  surfaceman's  hammer 
fall  against  the  rail  keys  occasionally  as  he  walked. 
He  saw  him  bend  once,  as  though  his  keen  ear 
detected  a  false  ring  in  a  loose  length  between  two 
plates.  This  was  the  last  that  was  seen  of  him  till 
the  driver  of  the  "nine-thirty-seven  down  "  express 


42  "  THE  HEATHER  UNTIED 

— the  "  boat-train,"  as  the  employes  of  the  P.P.R. 
call  it,  with  a  touch  of  respect  in  their  voices — 
passed  Gavin  fallen  forward  on  his  face  just  when 
he  was  flying  down  grade  under  a  full  head  of 
steam.  It  was  duskily-clear,  with  a  great  lake 
of  crimson  light  dying  into  purple  over  the  hills 
of  midsummer  heather.  The  driver  was  John 
Piatt,  the  Englishman  from  Crewe,  who  had 
been  brought  from  the  great  London  and  North- 
western Railway,  locally  known  as  "  The  Eil- 
nen-doubleyou."  In  these  remote  railway  circles 
the  talk  is  as  exclusively  of  matters  of  the  four- 
foot  way  as  in  Crewe  or  Derby.  There  is  an 
inspector  of  traffic  whose  portly  presence  now 
graces  Carlisle  station,  who  left  the  P.P.R.  in 
these  sad  days  of  amalgamation,  because  he  could 
not  endure  to  see  so  many  "  Sou'- West"  waggons 
passing  over  the  sacred  metals  of  the  P.P.R.  per- 
manent way.  From  his  youth  he  had  been  trained 
in  a  creed  of  two  articles — "To  swear  by  the  P.P.R. 
through  thick  and  thin,  and  hate  the  apple-green 
of  the  '  Sou'- West.'  "  It  was  as  much  as  he  could 
do  to  put  up  with  the  sight  of  the  abominations — 
to  have  to  hunt  for  their  trucks  when  they  got 
astray  was  more  than  mortal  could  stand,  so  he 
fled  the  land. 

So  when  they  stopped  the  express    for  Gavin 


"  THE  HEA  THER  LINTIEV  43 

Balchrystie  every  man  on  the  line  felt  that  it  was 
an  honour  to  the  dead.  John  Piatt  sent  a  "gurrring" 
thrill  through  the  train  as  he  put  his  brakes  hard 
down,  and  whistled  for  the  guard.  He,  thinking 
that  the  Merrick  Viaduct  was  down  at  least,  twirled 
his  brake  to  such  purpose  that  the  rear  car  pro- 
gressed along  the  metals  by  a  series  of  convulsive 
bounds.  Then  they  softly  ran  back,  and  there  lay 
Gavin  fallen  forward  on  his  knees,  as  though  he 
had  been  trying  to  rise,  or  had  knelt  down  to  pray. 
Let  him  have  "  the  benefit  of  the  doubt  "  in  this 
world.  In  the  next,  if  all  tales  be  true,  there  is  no 
such  thing. 

So  Janet  Balchrystie  dwelt  alone  in  the  white 
*  but-an-ben  "  at  the  back  of  the  Long  Wood  of 
Barbrax.  The  factor  gave  her  notice,  but  the 
laird,  who  was  not  accounted  by  his  neighbours 
to  be  very  wise,  because  he  did  needlessly  kind 
things,  told  the  factor  to  let  the  lassie  bide,  and 
delivered  to  herself  with  his  own  hand  writing 
to  the  effect  that  Janet  Balchrystie,  in  considera- 
tion of  her  lonely  condition,  was  to  be  allowed 
the  house  for  her  lifetime,  a  cow's  grass,  and  thirty 
pound  sterling  in  the  year  as  a  charge  on  the 
estate.  He  drove  down  the  cow  himself,  and 
having  stalled  it  in  the  byre,  he  informed  her  of 
the  fact  over  the  yard   dyke  by  word  of  mouth, 


44  "  THE  HEATHER  UNTIE." 

for  he  never  could  be  induced  to  enter  her  door. 
He  was  accounted  to  be  "  gey  an'  queer  "  save  by 
those  who  had  tried  malting  a  bargain  with  him. 
But  his  farmers  Hked  him,  knowing  him  to  be  an 
easy  man  with  those  who  had  been  really  unfortu- 
nate, for  he  knew  to  what  the  year's  crops  of  each 
had  amounted,  to  a  single  chalder  and  head  of  nowt. 
Deep  in  her  heart  Janet  Balchrystie  cherished 
a  great  ambition.  When  the  earliest  blackbird 
awoke  and  began  to  sing,  while  it  was  yet  grey 
twilight,  Janet  would  be  up  and  at  her  work. 
She  had  an  ambition  to  be  a  great  poet.  No  less 
than  this  would  serve  her.  But  not  even  her 
father  had  known,  and  no  other  had  any  chance 
of  knowing.  In  the  black  leather  chest,  which  had 
been  her  mother's,  upstairs,  there  was  a  slowly 
growing  pile  of  manuscript,  and  the  editor  of  the 
local  paper  received  every  other  week  a  poem, 
longer  or  shorter,  for  his  Poet's  Corner,  in  an 
envelope  with  the  New  Dairy  post-mark.  He 
was  an  obliging  editor,  and  generally  gave  the 
closely  written  manuscript  to  the  senior  office- 
boy  who  had  passed  the  sixth  standard,  to  cut 
down,  tinker  the  rhymes,  and  lop  any  super- 
fluity of  feet.  The  senior  office-boy  "  just  spread 
himself,"  as  he  said,  and  delighted  to  do  the  job 
in  style.     But  there  was  a  woman  fading  into  a 


"  THE  HEATHER  UNTIE."  45 

grey  old  maidlshness  which  had  hardly  ever  been 
girlhooJ,  who  did  not  at  all  approve  of  these  cor- 
rections. She  endured  them  because  over  the 
signature  of  "  Heather  Bell "  it  was  a  joy  to  see 
in  the  rich,  close  luxury  of  type  her  own  poetry, 
even  though  it  might  be  a  trifle  tattered  and 
tossed  about  by  hands  ruthless  and  alien — those, 
in  fact,  of  the  senior  office-boy. 

Janet  walked  every  other  week  to  the  post- 
office  at  New  Dairy  to  post  her  letters  to  the 
editor,  but  neither  that  great  man  nor  yet  the 
senior  office-boy  had  any  conception  that  the 
verses  of  their  "  esteemed  correspondent "  were 
written  by  a  woman  too  early  old  who  dwelt 
alone  at  the  back  of  Barbrax  Long  Wood. 

One  day  Janet  took  a  sudden  but  long  meditated 
journey.  Shewent  down  by  rail  fromthe  little  station 
of  the  "Huts"  to  the  large  town  of  Drum,  thirty  miles 
to  the  east.     Here,  with  the  most  perfect  courage 
and  dignity  of  bearing,  she  interviewed  a  printer 
and  arranged  for  the  publication  of  her  poems  in 
their   own    original    form,   no  longer   staled    and 
clapperclawed  by  the  pencil  of  the  senior  office- 
boy.     When   the  proof-sheets  came  to  Janet,  she 
had  no  way  of  indicating  the  corrections  but  by 
again  writing  the  whole  poem  out  in  a  neat  print 
hand  on  the  edge  of  the  proof,  and  underscoring 


46  "  THE  HE  A  THER  UNTIE:' 

the  words  which  were  to  be  altered.  This,  when 
you  think  of  it,  is  a  very  good  way,  when  the 
happiest  part  of  your  life  is  to  be  spent  in  such 
concrete  pleasures  of  hope,  as  Janet's  were  over  the 
crackly  sheets  of  the  printer  of  Drum.  Finally 
the  book  was  produced,  a  small  rather  thickish 
octavo,  on  sufficiently  wretched  grey  paper  which 
had  suffered  from  want  of  thorough  washing  in 
the  original  paper-mill.  It  was  bound  in  a 
peculiarly  deadly  blue,  of  a  rectified  Reckitt 
tint,  which  gave  you  dazzles  in  the  eye  at  any 
distance  under  ten  paces.  Janet  had  selected 
this  as  the  most  appropriate  of  colours.  She  had 
also  many  years  ago  decided  upon  the  title,  so  that 
Reckitt  had  printed  upon  it,  back  and  side,  "  The 
Heather  Lintie,"  while  inside  there  was  the 
acknowledgment  of  authorship,  which  Janet  felt 
to  be  a  solemn  duty  to  the  world,  "Poems  by 
Janet  Balchrystie,  Barbrax  Cottage,  by  New 
Dalr\'."  First  she  had  thought  of  withholding  her 
name  and  style  ;  but  on  the  whole,  after  the  most 
prolonged  consideration  she  felt  that  she  was  not 
justified  in  bringing  about  such  a  controversy  as 
divided  Scotland  concerning  that  "Great  Unknown" 
who  wrote  the  Waverley  Novels. 

Almost  every  second   or   third   day  Janet  trod 
that   long   lochside   road   to   New   Dairy  for   her 


"  THE  HEATHER  UNTIE,"  i;i 

proof-sheets,  and  returned  them  on  the  morrow 
corrected  in  her  own  way.  Sometimes  she  got  a 
lift  from  some  farmer  or  carter,  for  she  had  worn 
herself  with  anxiety  to  the  shadow  of  what  she 
had  once  been,  and  her  dry  bleached  hair  became 
grey  and  greyer  with  the  fervour  of  her  devotion 
to  letters. 

By  April  the  book  was  published,  and  at  the 
end  of  this  month,  laid  aside  by  sickness  of  the 
vague  kind  called  locally  "  a  decline,"  she  took  to 
her  bed,  rising  only  to  lay  a  iow  sticks  upon  the 
fire  from  her  store  gathered  in  the  autumn,  or  to 
brew  herself  a  cup  of  tea,  she  waited  for  the 
tokens  of  her  book's  conquests  in  the  great  world 
of  thought  and  men.  She  had  waited  so  long 
for  her  recognition,  and  now  it  was  coming.  She 
felt  that  it  would  not  be  long  before  she  was 
recognised  as  one  of  the  singers  of  the  world. 
Indeed,  had  she  but  known  it,  her  recognition  was 
already  on  its  way. 

In  a  great  city  of  the  north  a  clever  young 
reporter  was  cutting  open  the  leaves  of  "  The 
Heather  Lintie "  with  a   hand    almost    feverishly 


eager. 


"  This    is   a   perfect   treasure.      This   is   a   find 

indeed.     Here  is  my  chance  ready  to  my  hand." 

His   paper   was    making   a    speciality  of  "  ex- 


48  "  THE  HE  A  THER  UNTIE.'* 

posures."  If  there  was  anything  weak  and  erring, 
anything  particularly  helpless  and  foolish  which 
could  make  no  stand  for  itself,  The  Night 
Hawk  was  on  the  pounce.  Hitherto  the  Junior 
Reporter  had  never  had  a  "  two  column  chance." 
He  had  read — it  was  not  much  that  he  had  read — 
Macaulay's  too  famous  article  on  "  Satan  "  Mont- 
gomery, and  not  knowing  that  Macaulay  lived  to 
regret  the  spirit  of  that  assault,  he  felt  that  if 
he  could  bring  down  The  Night  Hawk  on  "The 
Heather  Lintie,"  his  fortune  was  made.  So  he  sat 
down  and  he  wrote,  not  knowing  and  not  regarding 
a  lonely  woman's  heart,  to  whom  his  word  would 
be  as  the  word  of  a  God,  in  the  lonely  cottage 
lying  in  the  lee  of  the  Long  Wood  of  Barbrax. 

The  Junior  Reporter  turned  out  a  triumph  of 
the  New  Journalism.  "  This  is  a  book  which 
may  be  a  genuine  source  of  pride  to  every  native 
of  the  ancient  province  of  Galloway,"  he  wrote. 
"  Galloway  has  been  celebrated  for  black  cattle 
and  for  wool — as  also  for  a  certain  bucolic  belated- 
ness  of  temperament,  but  Galloway  has  never 
hitherto  produced  a  poetess.  One  has  arisen  in 
the  person  of  Miss  Janet  Bal —  something  or  other. 
We  have  not  an  interpreter  at  hand,  and  so  cannot 
wrestle  with  the  intricacies  of  the  authoress's  name, 
which  appears  to  be  some  Galwegian  form  of  Erse 


«  IHE  HE  A  THER  LINTIE."  49 

or  Choctaw.  Miss  Bal — and  so  forth — has  a  true 
fount  of  pathos  and  humour.  In  what  touching 
language  she  chronicles  the  death  of  two  young 
lambs  which  fell  into  one  of  the  puddles  they  call 
rivers  down  there,  and  were  either  drowned  or 
choked  with  the  dirt — 

•* '  They  were  two  bonny,  bonny  lambs, 
That  played  upon  the  daisied  lea, 
And  loudly  mourned  their  woolly  dams 
Above  the  drumly  flowing  Dee.'  " 

**  How  touchingly  simple,"  continued  the  Junior 
Reporter,'  buckling  up  his  sleeves  to  enjoy  him- 
self, and  feeling  himself  born  to  be  a  Saturday 
Reviewer,  "  mark  the  local  colour,  the  wool  and 
the  dirty  water  of  the  Dee — without  doubt  a  name 
applied  to  one  of  their  bigger  ditches  down  there 
Mark  also  the  over-fervency  of  the  touching  line, 

'And  loudly  mourned  their  woolly  dams,* 

which,  but  for  the  sex  of  the  writer  and  her  evident 
genius,  might  be  taken  for  an  expression  of  a 
strength  hardly  permissible  even  in  the  metropolis." 
The  Junior  Reporter  filled  his  two  columns  and 
enjoyed  himself  in  the  doing  of  it.  He  concluded 
with  the  words,  "  The  authoress  will  make  a  great 
success.     If  she  will    come   to  the  capital    where 


so  ••  THE  HE  A  THER  UNTIE!' 

genius  is  always  appreciated,  she  will,  without 
doubt,  make  her  fortune.  Nay,  if  Miss  Bal — ,  but 
again  we  cannot  proceed  for  the  want  of  an  inter- 
preter— if  Miss  B.,  we  say,  will  only  accept  a 
position  at  Cleary's  Waxworks  and  give  readings 
from  her  poetry,  or  exhibit  herself  in  the  act  of 
pronouncing  her  own  name,  she  will  be  a  greater 
draw  in  this  city  than  Punch  and  Judy,  or  even  the 
latest  American  advertising  evangelist  who  preaches 
standing  on  his  head." 

The  Junior  Reporter  ceased  here  from  very 
admiration  at  his  own  cleverness  in  so  exactly 
hitting  the  tone  of  the  masters  of  his  craft,  and 
handed  his  manuscript  in  to  the  editor. 

It  was  the  gloaming  of  a  long  June  day  when 
Rob  Affleck,  the  woodman  over  at  Barbrax,  having 
been  at  New  Dairy  with  a  cart  of  wood,  left  his 
horse  on  the  roadside  and  ran  over  through  Gavin's 
old  short  cut,  now  seldom  used,  to  Janet's  cottage 
with  a  paper  in  a  yellow  wrapper. 

"  Leave  it  on  the  step,  and  thank  you  kindly, 
Rob,"  said  a  weak  voice  within,  and  Rob,  anxious 
about  his  horse  and  his  bed,  did  so  without 
another  word.  In  a  moment  or  two  Janet  crawled 
to  the  door,  listened  to  make  sure  that  Rob  was 
really  gone,  opened  the  door,  and  protruded  a  hand 
wasted  to  the  hard  flat  bone — an  arm  that  ought 


"  THE  HEATHER  UNTIE."  51 

for  her  years  to  have  been  of  full  flesh  and  noble 
curves. 

When  Janet  got  back  to  bed  it  was  too  dark  to 
see  anything  except  the  big  printing  at  the  top  of 
the  paper, 

"  Two  columns  of  it !  "  said  Janet,  with  great 
thankfulness  in  her  heart,  lifting  up  her  soul  to 
God  who  had  given  her  the  power  to  sing.  She 
strained  her  prematurely  old  and  weary  eyes  to 
make  out  the  sense.  "  A  genuine  source  of  pride 
to  every  native  of  the  ancient  province,"  she  read. 

"  The  Lord  be  praised  !  "  said  Janet,  in  a  rapture 
of  devout  thankfulness,  "though  I  never  really 
doubted  it,"  she  added,  as  though  asking  pardon 
for  a  moment's  distrust.  "  But  I  tried  to  write 
these  poems  to  the  glory  of  God  and  not  to  my 
own  praise,  and  He  will  accept  them  and  keep  me 
humble  under  the  praise  of  men  as  well  as  under 
their  neglect." 

So  clutching  the  precious  paper  close  to  her 
breast,  and  letting  tears  of  thankfulness  fall  on 
the  article  which,  had  they  fallen  on  the  head  of 
the  Junior  Reporter,  would  have  burnt  like  fire, 
she  patiently  awaited  the  coming  dawn. 

"  I  can  wait  till  the  morning  now  to  read  the 
rest,"  she  said. 

So  hour  after  hour,  with  her  eyes  wide,  staring 


52  "  THE  HEATHER  LIN  TIE." 

hard  at  the  grey  window  squares,  she  waited  the 
dawn  from  the  east.  About  half-past  two  there 
was  a  stirring  and  a  moaning  among  the  pines, 
and  the  roar  of  the  sudden  gust  came  with  the 
breaking  day  through  the  dark  arches.  In  the 
whirlwind  there  came  a  strange  expectancy  and 
tremor  into  the  heart  of  the  poetess,  and  she 
pressed  the  wet  sheet  of  crumpled  paper  closer  to 
her  bosom,  and  turned  to  face  the  light.  Through 
the  spaces  of  the  Long  Wood  of  Barbrax  there 
came  a  shining  visitor,  the  Angel  of  the  Presence, 
he  who  comes  but  once  and  stands  a  moment  with 
a  beckoning  finger.  Him  she  followed  up  through 
the  wood. 

They  found  Janet  on  the  morning  of  the  second 
day  after,  with  a  look  so  glad  on  her  face  and  so 
natural  an  expectation  in  the  unclosed  eye,  that 
Rob  Affleck  spoke  to  her  and  expected  an  answer. 
The  Night  Hazvk  was  clasped  to  her  breast  with 
a  hand  that  they  could  not  loosen.  It  went  to 
the  grave  with  her  body.  The  ink  had  run  a 
little  here  and  there,  where  the  tears  had  fallen 
thickest. 

God  is  more  merciful  than  man. 


THE  SPLIT  IN  THE  MARROW  KIRK. 

JiMlNY  and  Jaikie  were  two  little  boys.  They 
played  together  at  the  bottom  of  a  large  and 
beautiful  garden.  Jaikie  did  not  believe  that  there 
was  another  garden  so  large  and  fine  in  all  the 
world.  Jiminy  said  so,  and  he  was  the  minister's 
son  and  had  been  at  Dalmarnock  where  the  five 
steeples  are,  with  the  stars  sitting  on  the  tops  of 
them.  The  stars  are  the  tops  of  steeples  which 
one  cannot  see  for  the  darkness  of  the  night.  In 
the  daytime,  just  the  other  way  about,  one  sees 
the  steeples,  but  cannot  see  the  stars.  Jiminy  was 
also  the  authority  for  these  statements.  He  was, 
as  we  said  before,  a  minister's  son,  and,  of  course, 
knew  everything.  Jaikie's  father  was  an  elder,  and 
did  not  admire  the  father  of  Jiminy  at  all ;  but  his 
son  made  it  up  by  holding  Jiminy  infallible. 

There  was  a  great  dispute  in  the  little  Kirk  of 
the  Marrow.  Long  ago,  long  before  these  boys 
were  born,  or  their  grandfathers  either,  a  book  had 

S3 


54        THE  SPLIT  IN  THE  MARROW  KIRK. 

been  carried  up  from  England  in  an  old  soldier's 
satchel  which  had  set  all  Scotland  by  the  ears. 
Kirks  had  been  split,  ministers  had  been  deposed, 
new  denominations  had  been  formed  over  the  old 
soldier's  wallet  book.  Now,  a  hundred  years  later, 
the  little  Kirk  of  the  Marrow  in  the  village  of 
Muirgate  was  in  the  "  deed  thraws  "  of  a  disruption. 
The  Reverend  Simon  Adam,  locally  known  as 
"  Maister  Aydam,"  with  the  larger  portion  of  the 
congregation,  were  for  following  the  majority  of 
the  congregations  of  the  Kirk  of  the  Marrow 
scattered  over  the  Southern  Uplands  into  the 
larger  fold  of  one  of  the  better-known  evangelical 
communions  of  Scotland.  Ebenezer  Langbakkit, 
Jaikie's  father,  led  the  opposition  to  this  union, 
and  threatened  to  carry  their  opposition  even  to 
the  extremity  of  extruding  the  minister  from  his 
manse  and  kailyard,  and  barring  the  door  of  the 
kirk  in  his  face,  because  he  had  forsworn  his  ordi- 
nation vows,  and  gone  back  from  the  pure  doctrine 
and  practice  of  the  "  Marrowmen,"  as  laid  down  in 
the  famous  controversy  by  Thomas  Boston  and 
other  precious  and  savoury  divines. 

Thus  far  the  war  of  the  Marrow  Kirk  of  Muir- 
gate. But  the  two  little  boys  wotted  little  of  it  as 
they  played  together  in  that  large  garden  during 
the  long  continued  heats  of  the  Dry  Summer.   The 


THE  SPLIT  IN  THE  MARROW  KIRK.        55 

garden  was  cut  up  into  squares  by  walks  which  ran 
at  right  angles  to  one  another.  There  were  square 
plots  of  gooseberry  bushes,  square  wildernesses 
of  pea-sticks,  and  square  strawberry  beds  in  that 
corner  where  it  was  forbidden  for  small,  sweet- 
toothed  boys  to  go.  At  the  upper  end  an  orchard 
ran  right  across,  every  tree  in  which  was  climbable, 
and  a  wall,  with  a  flight  of  steps  over  into  a  field, 
bounded  all.  Great  trees,  generations  old,  sur- 
rounded the  garden  and  orchard,  and  cast  here  and 
there  throughout  it  circular  plots  of  pleasant  shade 
amid  the  garden  squares.  It  was,  said  the  wise- 
acres, too  much  buried  in  foliage  to  make  the  best 
of  gardens.  But  it  suited  two  small  boys  that 
summ^er  very  well. 

The  boys  did  not  go  to  school.  Jiminy  Adam 
had  a  brief  and  terrible  struggle  with  the  Latin 
verb  every  morning  in  his  father's  study,  whence  he 
emerged  to  forget  all  about  the  matter  for  other 
twenty-three  hours  ;  but  Jaikie  had  no  call  to  go 
to  the  school  at  all,  for  there  was  no  school-board 
officer  in  tho.se  days,  the  dominie  was  infirm  and 
old,  and  Jaikie's  father  divided  between  plotting 
against  Maister  Aydam  and  a  course  of  black, 
gloomy  drinking  in  his  own  house. 

Week  after  week  the  climax  of  discontent  ap- 
proached.     The  true  Marrowmen,  as    Eby  Lang- 


56        THE  SPLIT  IN  THE  MARROW  KIRK. 

bakkit's  party  called  themselves,  were  all  grim 
men  determined  not  to  company  with  those  who 
had  but  recently  separated  from  an  "  Erastian  and 
Malignant"  (with  a  capital  M)  Establishment,  and 
who  had  never  purged  themselves  from  their  guilty 
compliance.  Nor  would  they  permit  the  kirk  of 
bygone  valiant  protestings  to  be  longer  desecrated 
by  the  services  of  a  man  like  Mr.  Adam,  who 
had  conformed  to  the  too  easy  temper  of  the 
times. 

Thus  far  had  the  matter  gone  when  one  day 
Jiminy  and  Jaikie  played  together  by  the  orchard 
wall.  They  were  very  small  boys,  and  as  there 
were  no  girls  about,  or  other  boys  to  reproach  them 
for  the  childishness,  they  played  at  building  houses 
and  living  in  them.  Jiminy  was  architect,  and 
directed  the  operations,  ordering  Jaikie  about  like 
a  hod-carrier  to  fetch  and  carry  for  him  all  day 
long-.  When  he  threw  a  load  of  stones  at  him 
disdainfully,  Jaikie  was  in  the  seventh  heaven 
of  ecstasy.  Jaikie  adored  all  who  abused  him, 
if  only  they  allowed  him  to  worship  them. 
Jiminy  had  no  objection.  Often  Jaikie  would  have 
liked  to  inhabit  for  a  little  one  of  the  splendid 
mansions  which  he  toiled  in  the  sweat  of  his  brow  to 
erect  But  it  was  not  to  be.  As  soon  as  a  plan  was 
completed,  after  one  discontented   survey,  Jiminy 


THE  SPLIT  IN  THE  MARRO  W  KIRK.        57 

would  kick  down  all  their  hard  work  and  start  over 
again  on  a  new  and  improved  plan.  Once  Jaikie 
begged  Jiminy  not  to  kick  down-  a  specially  noble 
tower  built  with  mud,  which  Jaikie  had  laboured 
like  a  Hebrew  slave  bondaging  in  Egypt,  to  bring 
up  from  the  river.  Then  Jiminy  kicked  Jaikie  for 
interfering  where  he  had  no  business,  which  sent 
that  hero-worshipper  into  the  seventh  heavens  of 
happiness. 

Couched  in  his  bunk  at  nights,  beneath  the  little 
gable  window  in  the  attic,  Jaikie  could  hear  the 
confabulations  of  the  Marrowmen  who  came  to 
receive  their  instructions  from  that  grim  sectary, 
Eby  Langbakkit.  It  was  some  time  before  Jaikie 
paid  any  heed  to  these  gatherings.  He  had  been 
accustomed  to  such  silent  and  dour  assemblies 
downstairs  as  long  as  he  could  remember,  with  a 
black  bottle  of  whisky  sitting  in  the  middle  of  the 
table,  and  his  father  casting  a  wary  eye  at  each 
man  as  he  took  his  dram  to  see  that  no  advantage 
was  taken.  If  there  were,  Ebenezer  Langbakkit 
checked  the  offender  sharply,  as,  indeed,  he  had 
every  right  to  do,  being  an  elder. 

Lately,  however,  stirred  to  some  attention  by 
Jiminy's  dark  hints  of  plots  and  conspiracies,  he 
had  taken  to  crawling  out  of  his  bed  every  night 
and  lying  at  the  top  of  the  ladder,  a  shivering 


58        THE  SPLIT  IN  THE  MARROW  KIRK. 

little  phantom,  listening  to  the  talk  that  went  on 
beneath. 

"  Shall  we  be  degradit  and  abolished,"  said 
Jaikie's  father,  "swallowed  quick  by  the  whore  that 
sitteth  on  the  Seven  Hills?" 

Murmurs  of  applause.  "'Deed,  they're  little 
better  ! " 

"  Shall  the  truth-forsaking  hireling  of  the  flock 
lead  away  his  silly  sheep,  and  also  keep  possession 
of  the  sheep-fold  ?  Nay,  verily  !  The  faithful  must 
take  and  the  contending  remnant  must  possess ! " 

All  this  was  not  much  to  the  purpose,  and  Jaikie 
dovered  over  to  sleep.  When  he  awoke  his  father 
was  giving  more  understandable  directions. 

"  You,  John  Howieson,  are  to  tak'  three  wi'  you 
an'  lie  in  the  trees  at  the  foot  o'  the  orchard  ;  then 
when  ye  see  Bell  Girmory  gaun  doon  to  the  village 
with  a  message — I'll  see  that  she  gangs — ye'll  gang 
yer  ways  up  and  tak'  possession  o'  the  manse.  The 
minister  will  no'  be  hame  for  the  maitter  o'  an  'oor. 
He'll  be  preachin'  at  Cairn  Edward,  as  I  telled  ye. 
Then  yince  in  the  manse,  ye  maun  haud  it  against 
a'  comers  by  virtue  o'  the  deeds  and  charters  that 
I  gie  ye.  When  he  brings  ye  to  the  question,  ye  are 
to  say  to  him  that  all  his  household  goods  will  be 
cared  for  and  delivered  to  him  upon  demand,  and 
that  a  decent  lodging  has  been  bespoken  for  him 


THE  SPLIT  IN  THE  MARROW  KIRK.        59 

in  the  house  of  Elspeth  MacClevver,  that's  a  decent 
woman,  an'  clean,  though  no  better  than  a 
Burgher." 

"  Meanwhile,  the  lave  o'  ye  are  to  come  wi'  me 
an'  we  are  in  like  manner  to  haud  the  kirk.  Come 
weel  providit,  for  we're  to  haud  it  a'  day  on  Satur- 
day, and  a*  the  nicht  likewise,  till  Zechariah  Moss- 
haggs,  that  true  servant  of  the  Lord,  shall  come  to 
preach  the  kirk  vacant  in  the  name  of  the  Faithful 
Remnant  of  the  Synod  of  the  Marrowmen." 

Jaikie  had  not  been  asleep  all  this  time.  He 
listened  as  he  never  listened  before,  except  when 
Jiminy  was  giving  his  orders  and  looking  as  if  he 
were  going  to  kick. 

All  night  Jaikie  lay  awake  till  the  early  light 
brightened  to  another  dewless  morning,  for  the 
earth  was  dun  and  dusty  with  the  parching  of  the 
sun.  As  soon  as  it  was  light,  Jaikie  slid  down  the 
trunk  of  the  rowan  tree  which  threw  a  convenient 
branch  to  his  window,  to  make  a  staircase  for  a  little 
boy  in  a  hurry,  who  might  not  wish  to  disturb  his 
father  with  his  late  bedding  or  his  early  rising.  The 
bare  legs  of  Jaikie  paddled  through  the  dust  and 
over  the  burnt-up  russet  grass,  across  the  dry  bed 
of  the  burn  to  Jiminy's  window.  Here  he  whistled 
that  peculiar  call  which  Jiminy  had  revealed  to  him 
under  the  dreadful  shadow  of  night,  in  the  dusky 


6o        THE  SPLIT  IN  THE  MARROW  KIRK. 

cavern  of  the  Bloody  Hand  (known  in  the  daytime 
as  the  manse  potato  house),  a  call  which  Jaikie 
believed  to  be  connected  with  the  black  art,  and  in 
case  of  revealing  the  secret  of  which  he  was  under 
solemn  obligation,  sealed  with  his  blood,  to  cut  his 
throat  and  afterwards  to  be  kicked  black  and  blue 
by  Jiminy,  who  was  a  master  of  the  darkest  wizardr}-, 
according  to  his  own  account. 

As  he  continued  to  whistle  a  large  sea-shell,  pink 
inside,  swung  down  from  an  upper  window  and 
impinged  abruptly  on  his  bare  leg. 

"  Ow  !  "  said  Jaikie. 

"  Stop  that  horrid  noise.  That'll  learn  ye.  You'll 
wakken  my  father  !  "  said  Jiminy,  in  his  nightdress. 
"  What  d'ye  want  at  ony  rate  at  this  time  in  the 
mornin'?" 

"  Come  doon  an'  I'll  tell  ye  ;  I  canna  cry  it  up 
there." 

"  Get  away.  I'm  no'  comin'  doon  in  the  middle 
o'  the  nicht,"  said  Jiminy,  who  had  lapsed  into  the 
Doric  of  his  play  hours. 

"O  Jiminy,  ye  micht  come  doon.  It's  an  awfu'- 
like  thing  I  hae  to  tell  ye.  It's  aboot  yer  faither. 
Ye  maun  come  doon  the  noo.  I'll  let  ye  kick  me 
for  hale  five  meenites  gin  ye  like." 

Filial  affection  or  the  prospect  of  healthy  leg- 
exercise  brought  Jiminy  down  with  a  run,  and  the 


THE  SPLIT  IN  THE  MARROW  KIRK.        6i 

two  boys  wandered  off  into  the  wood  in  close  con- 
fabulation. 

It  was  the  Saturday  morning  of  the  plot.  The 
minister  who  stood  so  near  the  brink  of  his  extru- 
sion was  on  his  way  home  from  Cairn  Edward, 
where  he  had  been  "daubing  with  untempered 
mortar,"  as  Eby  Langbakkit  said,  by  preaching  in 
an  Uncovenanted  Kirk. 

Round  the  corner  of  the  orchard,  dividing  into 
two  bands  as  they  came,  stole  the  Faithful 
Remnant  to  take  possession  of  the  kirk  and  manse 
into  which  Simon  Adam  was  no  more  to  come. 
Bell  Girmory  duly  departed  through  the  trees 
with  her  lilac  sun-bonnet  on,  in  the  direction  of 
the  village.  She  had  a  large  basket  over  her 
arm. 

John  Howieson  and  his  henchmen  took  the 
manse  in  front  and  rear ;  but  the  front  door,  which 
had  only  been  shut  at  night  and  never  locked  even 
then,  was  now  bolted  and  barred.  The  back  door 
was  also  firmly  locked,  and  when  John  Howieson 
went  to  lift  the  kitchen  window,  the  secret  of 
which  he  knew  from  having  courted  (unsuccessfully) 
numerous  manse  lasses,  Bell's  predecessors,  he  re- 
coiled in  sudden  amazement.  He  had  looked 
down  the  bell  mouth  of  an  ancient  blunderbuss 
into  which  the  sun  shone  so  plain  that,  as  he  said 


62        THE  SPLIT  IN  THE  MARROW  KIRK. 

afterwards,  "  Man,  I  could  hae  coontit  the  lead 
draps  at  the  buddom  [bottom]  o'  her  ! " 

This  weapon  of  war  was  in  the  hands  of  a 
militant  small  boy.  The  council  of  war  had 
forgotten  to  reckon  with  Jiminy  ;  still  more,  they 
had  not  taken  Jaikie  into  account.  They  soon 
had  to  do  so,  for  Jaikie  was  under  orders  from 
"  General "  Jiminy,  and  had  every  intention  of 
obeying  them. 

Ebenezer  Langbakkit  had  gone  openly  with 
half  a  dozen  others  to  take  possession  of  the  kirk 
at  twelve  of  the  clock.  He  had  made  a  key  for 
the  lock,  and  anticipated  no  difficulty.  His  surprise 
was  great  when  he  found  that  there  was  a  key 
already  in  the  lock  on  the  inside.  He  tried  the 
southern  door  with  a  similar  effect.  He  put  his 
fingers  through  the  hole  by  which,  as  in  a  stable 
door,  the  inside  latch  was  lifted,  but  within  that 
aperture  his  finger  encountered  something  hard 
and  cold.  He  applied  his  eye,  and,  just  as  John 
Howieson  was  doing  at  that  moment  over  at  the 
manse,  he  found  himself  looking  down  the  barrel 
of  a  gun.  The  sensation  is  not  an  agreeable  one 
even  to  an  elder  of  the  Kirk  of  the  Marrow. 
Looking  through  the  window  precariously,  from 
the  branches  of  a  neighbouring  tree,  his  surprise 
was  not  lessened  and  his  anger  greatly  increased 


THE  SPLIT  IN  THE  MARROW  KIRK.        63 

by  seeing  his  own  son,  Jaikie,  marching  up  and 
down  the  aisle,  with  a  gun  on  his  shoulder,  as 
proud  and  erect  as  a  veteran  of  Ramilies. 

"  Open  the  door  this  instant,  Jaikie  !  "  he 
thundered,  black  anger  sitting  on  him  like  the 
night  But  Jaikie  answered  not  a  word.  He  had 
his  orders  from  Jiminy. 

From  window  to  window  thundered  Eby  Lang- 
bakkit,  but  there  was  no  way  of  entrance. 

At  each  window  and  door  stood  the  inevitable 
small  boy  with  the  large  gun,  and  the  reflection 
lay  heavily  on  all  the  party  that  a  small  boy  with 
a  man's  gun  is  more  to  be  feared  than  a  large 
man  with  a  boy's  gun.  A  commonplace  thought, 
but  one  with  practical  bearing  at  that  moment  to 
the  sect  of  Eby  Langbakkit. 

Then  Eby  Langbakkit  swore  a  great  oath  that 
in  that  kirk  he  v/ould  be,  though  he  swung  for  it. 

"  Bring  me  the  poother  flask  ! "  he  ordered  ; 
but  no  man  gave  to  him,  for  they  feared  what 
they  saw  in  his  face. 

"  Ye'll  no'  hurt  the  laddie.  He's  your  ain  son," 
said  one  to  him. 

"  Then  he's  no'  yours,"  he  answered,  blackly ; 
"  so  mind  your  ain  business." 

He  got  his  own  powder  flask,  inserted  a  slow 
match  into   it,  and    placed    it  beneath    the    door 


64        THE  SPLIT  IN  THE  MARROW  KIRK. 

Then  he  stood  apart  waiting  for  the  event.  There 
was  a  loud  report,  an  instant  rush  of  white  smoke, 
and  the  side  of  the  flask  buried  itself  in  the  tree 
close  to  the  elder's  head.  When  the  smoke 
cleared  away  the  kirk  door  lay  on  its  side,  having 
fallen  heavily  inward.  There  was  no  small  bo)- 
to  be  seen  from  end  to  end  of  the  empty  kirk. 
Langbakkit  sprang  forward  in  fierce  anger  that 
his  son  had  escaped  without  his  deserts.  The 
silence  and  chill  of  the  empty  kirk  alone  met  him. 

He  was  about  to  step  over  the  fallen  door, 
when  out  from  beneath  the  heavy  iron-studded 
oak  he  saw  stealing  a  tiny  thread  of  red.  Some- 
thing struck  him  to  the  heart.  He  pressed  his 
hand  on  his  breast  and  stood,  not  daring  to  go 
farther. 

"  Mr.  Langbakkit,  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  " 
said  the  calm  voice  of  the  minister,  Mr.  Adam. 
No  one  replied.  The  protest  died  out  at  the 
sight  of  that  faint  streak  of  liquid  scarlet  and  the 
fear  of  what  lay  unseen  beneath  it. 

"  Saunders  Grierson  and  David  Robb,  I  com- 
mand you,  help  me  to  lift  the  door  of  the  house 
of  God  1 "  said  the  minister. 

The  two  men  named  approached  awkwardly, 
and  between  them  the  three  lifted  the  heavy  door 
Beneath   it  lay  the  crushed  and    torn    body  of  a 


THE  SPLIT  IN  THE  MARROW  KIRK,        65 

boy,  still  clasping  firmly  an  iron  tube  thrust  into  a 
rough  lump  of  wood.  He  must  have  stood  quite 
close  to  the  door  when  the  flask  exploded,  for  the 
explosion  had  torn  the  clothes  almost  off  his  poor 
body. 

The  minister  raised  him  tenderly  in  his  arms, 
and  wiped  his  face  very  gently  with  his  napkin. 
The  sight  of  this  seemed  to  awaken  Ebenezer 
Langbakkit. 

"  Give  me  my  dead,"  he  said,  suddenly  and 
roughly.  "  The  Lord  has  stricken  me.  I  am  a 
man  of  violence  !  " 

So  saying  he  strode  away,  bowed  with  his  burden. 

Now,  this  is  properly  the  end  of  the  story  of 
the  split  in  the  Marrow  Kirk,  but  for  the  sake  of 
some  who  may  love  Jaikie,  it  is  enough  to  say 
that,  though  sore  wounded,  he  did  not  die.  When 
Jiminy  went  to  see  him,  he  lay  a  long  time 
silently  holding  his  friend's  hand. 

"  I  couldna  keep  them  oot,  Jiminy,  but  I  did  my 
best.  Ye'll  no'  hae  to  kick  me  for't  when  I  get  better." 

And  Jiminy  never  kicked  him  any  more.  When 
it  was  time  for  Jiminy  to  go  to  college  he  had  for 
companion,  at  Maister  Adam's  expense,  a  lame 
lad  with  a  beautiful  countenance.  His  name  wa.s 
Jaikie. 


THE  PROBATIONER, 

Thomas  Todd  has  just  received  a  call  to  the 
Kirk  of  Dowiedens,  somewhere  over  on  Tweed- 
side,  so  he  can  hardly  be  called  a  minister  of  our 
countryside ;  but  there  need  be  no  objection  if 
the  lad  is  allowed  to  say  his  say  among  the  rest, 
for  he  belongs  to  this  part  of  the  country,  and  his 
father  before  him.  He  has  been  a  long  time  as  a 
probationer — six  year  and  more — so  that  there 
were  some  that  said  that  he  would  never  wag 
his  head  but  in  another  man's  pulpit.  But  Tam 
cheated  them  all,  for  he  is  to  be  ordained  to  the 
pastoral  charge  of  Dowiedens,  a  fortnight  come 
Friday.  It's  not  to  say  a  large  parish,  being  wide 
scattered,  with  as  much  exercise  for  the  legs  as  for 
the  brains  in  looking  after  the  fowk.  There  are 
but  few  parishioners,  only,  as  Tammas  says,  "  they 
are  as  ill  to  please  as  Saint  George's  itsel'  I  " 
Tammas  has  been  biding  with  us  at  Drumquhat ; 


THE  PROBATIONER.  67 

he's  a  great  favourite  with  the  mistress.  Many  is 
the  girdleful  of  crumpy  cakes  that  she  will  bake 
for  him,  when  I  dare  not  suggest  the  like  to  her — 
no,  not  for  my  life. 

"  Hae  ye  nae  sense  ava',  Saunders  MaWhurr,  to 
come  fleechin'  wi'  me  to  bake  ye  short-breed  an' 
sic  like,  wi'  the  pigs  to  feed  an'  the  hervesters 
comin'  in  gilravagin'  wi'  hunger  at  six  o'clock. 
Think  shame  o'  yer  bairnly  weys,  man  !  " 

But  if  Tammas  Todd  comes  ben  an'  sits  doon, 
the  wife'll  gie  her  ban's  a  dicht,  slip  aff  her  apron, 
an'  come  in  to  hear  aboot  Enbro'  an'  the  laddies' 
landladies,  and  their  awfu'  wickednesses  wi'  the 
coals  an'  the  butter,  till  she'll  say,  "  Come  awa'  to 
the  kitchen,  an'  I  can  be  bakin'  a  bit  sweet  cake 
for  the  tea — the  guidman's  fell  fond  o't !  " 

The  Almichty  in  His  wonderful  providence 
made  mony  curious  things,  but  nane  o'  them  so 
queer  an'  contrary  as  the  weemen-fowk.  This  is 
what  I  says  to  myself,  but  I  have  more  sense  than 
to  say  it  aloud.  I'll  warrant  that  King  Solomon 
among  his  other  wisdom  learned  to  haud  his 
tongue  before  he  got  as  many  as  three  hunder 
wives. 

This  is  what  the  laddie  said  sitting  on  the  table 
at  the  end  of  the  bake-board.  Tammas  is  gettin' 
on  for  thirty,  but  in  some  things  it's  strange  to  see 


68  THE  PROBATIONER. 

him  so  keen  of  sweet  things.  He'll  take  up  a  bit 
o'  the  dough  that  the  wife  is  rolling  out  wi'  hei 
wooden  pin,  and  he  eats  it  like  a  laddie  hame  from 
the  school ;  but  my  certie,  I  would  like  to  see  ony 
one  of  her  ain  try  that  ;  he  would  get  a  ring  on 
the  side  of  the  head  that  would  learn  him  to  leave 
his  mither  alone  when  she  was  baking.  But 
Tammas  could  aye  get  the  soft  side  of  the 
mistress. 

"  We'll  no'  hae  to  ca'  ye  '  Tammas '  when  ye  get 
to  be  a  placed  minister,"  says  she,  knowing  brawly 
that  the  lad'll  be  "Tammas"  to  all  at  Drumquhat 
till  his  dying  day. 

"  If  ye  dinna,"  says  he,  "  I'll  never  look  near  the 
bit."  Tammas  can  speak  the  English  as  weel  as 
onybody,  but  when  he  gets  among  his  own  folk  he 
prides  himself  on  relapsing,  so  to  speak,  into  the 
broadest  Gallowa'.  He  laughs  at  me  for  being 
fond  of  writing  in  proper  English.  He  says  that  I 
need  not  try  it,  for  when  I  do  my  best,  every  sen- 
tence has  got  the  "  Gallowa'  lug-mark  "  plain  on  it. 
But  this  is  his  nonsense. 

"Ye  maun  hae  had  some  queer  bars,  Tammas, in 
your  time,"  said  the  mistress. 

Tammas  gied  a  bit  smile,  and  said  with  the 
pleased  look  that  a  man  has  when  he's  accused  of 
something  that  he  likes  to  hear  about,  like  a  pussy 


THE  PROBA  TIONER.  69 

strokit  the  richt  way — I  mind  weel  mysel'  walking 
three  miles  to  be  tormented  about  Jessie  Scott  before 
we  were  married — "  Nocht  to  speak  aboot,"  says  he, 
" but  of  coorse,  a  man  canna  gang  aboot  six  }ear 
vvi'  a  pokemantie  withoot  seein'  somethin'  o'  baith 
sides  o'  life." 

"  Ye'll  hae  been  in  a  feck  o'  manses  in  yer  time, 
Tammas?  " 

"  Ay,  Mrs.  MaWhurr,"  says  he,  "  and  let  me  tell 
you,  that  there's  no  sic  hooses  as  manses  in  Scot- 
land, or  onywhere  else — that  is,"  he  says,  "  nine  oot 
o'  every  ten  o'  them.  I  wad  be  an  ingrate  to  say 
onything  else,  for  in  nearly  every  instance  I  have 
been  treated,  no  like  a  puir  probationer  preachin' 
for  his  guinea  fee  and  gaun  off  like  a  beggar  wi'  his 
awmus  on  Monday  mornin',  but  like  a  verra  prince. 
I  hae  memories  o'  the  mistresses  o'  the  manses  o' 
Scotlan'  that  will  never  be  forgotten  !  " 

"  An'  o'  the  dochters  o'  the  manses  .? "  says  I,  just 
above  my  breath.  Then  there  was  a  warm  colour 
rose  to  the  cheek  of  the  minister-elect  of  the 
Dowiedens,  and  mantled  on  his  brow,  but  he  said 
bravely  : 

"  Ay,  an'  the  lasses  were  kind  to  me,  they  were 
that." 

"  When  is't  to  be  ?  "  says  I. 

"Let   the  lad  alane,  can  ye  no,  Saunders  Ma- 


70  THE  PROBATIONER. 

Whurr ;  ye' re  never  dune  wi'  yer  fule  talk,"  says 
my  wife.  She  had  been  talking  even  on  the  whole 
night,  and  I  had  said  maybe  a  dozen  words.  But 
I  let  that  pass. 

"  Of  coorse,  among  so  mony  there  were  bun'  to 
be  some  queer  yins  ?  "  suggested  my  wife,  fishing 
in  the  young  man's  shallow  water.  The  wife  can 
draw  most  folks,  but  Saunders  MaWhurr  has  leeved 
ower  lang  wi'  her  not  to  see  through  her 
wiles. 

"Weel,  I  mind,"  says  Tammas  Tod,  "o'  yince 
being  askit  to  preach  at  a  certain  place  ;  I'll  no  say 
where,  nor  I'll  no  tell  ye  gin  ye  speer.  It  was 
maybes  half-past  seeven  when  I  got  to  the  manse, 
an'  I  had  had  a  long  journey. 

" '  Ye'U  be  tired  an'  hungry,'  said  the  mistress. 
'  Ye'll  be  wantin'  to  gang  sune  to  your  bed.'  Hungry 
i  was,  but  to  gang  sune  to  your  bed  is  no  so  common 
amang  us  lads  wi'  the  black  bag;  but  I  said  nocht, 
and  took  my  cup  o'  tea,  an'  some  bread  and  butter. 
'  Tak'  plenty  o'  the  bread  an'  butter,'  she  says  ;  *  we 
hae  nae  cauld  meat,'  I  wad  hae  been  gled  to  see 
some  o'  that  same,  but  it  wasna  for  me  to  say  ony- 
thing. 

"  Aboot  nine  I  saw  some  o*  them  gettin'  par- 
tic'lar  fidgety  like,  gaun  oot  an'  in,  yin  sayin,  *  Is 
Mr.  Todd's  room  ready  ? '  an'  another  yin  rinnin' 


THE  PROBA  TIONER.  71 

doon  stairs  cryin'  to  somebody  in  the  kitchen,  'Can 
ye  no  wait  awee  ?  ' 

"  Then  I  was  askit  to  tak'  the  buik,  an'  as  sune 
as  ever  I  gat  up  the  mistress  brocht  in  my  bedroom 
•'ran'le.  *  Yer  room's  ready  whenever  ye  like,'  she 
says.  This  was  what  I  wad  ca'  a  solid  kind  o'  hint, 
aboot  as  braid  as  it's  lang,  an'  it  was  mair  than 
eneuch  for  me,  so  I  took  baith  hint  an'  can'le,  an' 
gaed  my  ways. 

"  But  I  hadna  been  ten  meenutes  in  my  room 
when  I  took  a  thocht  to  gie  my  sermons  for  the 
morn  a  bit  look,  but  I  fand  that  I  had  left  my 
Bible  in  the  room  where  I  had  my  tea.  So  withoot 
a  thocht  doon  I  gaed  to  get  the  buik,  an'  when  I 
opened  the  door  what  do  ye  think  I  saw  ?  " 
We  were  silent  every  one. 

"  Weel,  I  saw  the  hale  family  sittin'  doon  to  a  hot 
supper !  " 

"  Davert !  that  cowes  a',"  said  my  wife,  her  hos- 
pitable soul  up  in  arms.  "  An'  tell  me,  whatever 
did  ye  do  .? " 

"Well,"  said  Tammas  Todd,  "I  hae  lookit  in 
every  buik  o'  Guid  Mainners,  an'  in  a'  the  Guides 
to  Polite  Society,  but  I  canna  find  a  word  in  ony 
yin  o'  them  that  tells  me  what  I  should  hae 
dune." 
"  I  daresay  no,  ye  were  in  no  polite  society  thai 


72  THE  PROBA  TIONER. 

nicht ! "  said  Mrs.  MaWhurr  ;  "  but  tell  me,  what 
did  ye  do  ?  " 

"  Weel,"  said  Tammas,  "  I  juist  cam'  my  ways  up 
the  stair  again,  an'  took  the  lave  o'  the  sandwiches 
that  the  minister's  wife,  whas  hoose  I  had  left  that 
mornin',  had  kindly  pitten  up  for  me." 

"  The  Lord  be  thankit,  they're  no  a'  alike,"  said 
my  wife,  devoutly. 

"  Na,  far  frae  that,"  said  Tammas  Todd  ;  "  deed 
I'm  ashamed  to  tell  ye  o'  this  yin,but  there's  no  sic 
anither  in  a'  Scotlan',  I'se  warrant.  An'  when  I 
gaed  back  to  the  leddy's  hoose  that  gied  me  the 
sandwiches,  which  I  did  on  the  followin'  Setterday, 
she  was  like  to  greet  to  think  on  the  wey  that  I  had 
been  used.  She  aye  said  that  I  minded  her  o'  her 
ain  boy  that  she  had  lost — *  My  puir  lad  ! '  she  says, 
an'  she  cam'  near  takin'  me  roun'  the  neck,  she  was 
that  sair  pitten  aboot." 

"  Maybes  the  dochter  did  it  a'thegither,"  says 
I,  for  a  wee  bird  had  brocht  the  news  that  the 
manse  at  Dowiedens  wasna  long  to  be  withoot  a 
mistress. 

"  Saunders  MaWhurr "  began  my  wife  in  the 

voice  that  she  uses  when  the  byre  lass  is  ower  lang 
in  bringin'  in  the  kye. 

"  Never  mind  him,  Mrs.  MaWhurr,  he  maun  hae 
been  a  gey  boy  himsel'  to  hae  the  lasses  so  con- 


THE  PROBATIONER.  73 

stant  tn  his  mind  !  "  said  Tammas,  which  was  a 
most  uncalled  for  observe. 

"  Ye'll  be  a'  by  wi'  probationerin'  noo,  Tammas  ?  " 
says  I,  to  gie  him  a  new  lead. 

"  Weel,  I  had  a  sma'  experience  Sabbath 
eight  days,  nae  farther  gane,"  said  he.  "  I  had 
occasion  to  look  in  at  the  kirk  offices  to  see  old 
'Jeremiah' — him  that  sen's  us  to  oor  preachin' 
places,  ye  ken,  an'  says  he,  '  Man,  ye  micht  gang 
doon  to  Elvanby,  it'll  no  be  oot  o'  yer  wey 
gin  ye're  gaun  doon  to  the  Border  Country  ony- 
w&y ' " 

"  On  yer  wey  to  the  manse  whaur  the  fowk  tak' 
ye  roon  the  neck,  nae  doot !  "  says  I. 

My  wife  gied  me  a  look  that  wad  hae  speaned  a 
foal,  but  Tammas  Todd  never  let  on. 

"So  I  gaed  doon  wi'  the  efternoon  train  to 
Elvanby,  which  is  a  biggish  place  on  the  railway 
line.  I  got  there  ower  in  the  forenicht.  It  was  as 
dark  as  the  guidman's  snuff-box,  an'  rainin'  in 
sheets.  I  had  a  heavy  bag,  for  I  had  my  buiks  to 
prepare  for  my  ordination " 

"An'  yer  co-ordination  too,  no  doot,"  says  1, 
"  for  wi'  you  ministers  I  hae  noticed  that  the  ordi- 
nation comes  first,  an'  syne  the  co-ordination,  but 
ye're  maistly  sunest  ready  for  the  co-ordination 
The  last  first,  that's  your  motto,"  says  I. 


74  THE  PROBATIONER. 

"  I  dinna  understand  a  word  ye're  sayin',"  says 
he;  "ye're  haiverin',  guidman." 

"  Dinna  be  ashamed  o't,  my  young  man,"  says  I. 
"  It's  a  hantle  easier  gettin'  a  lass  than  a  kirk  ony 
day  !  "  says  I. 

"  And  that's  a  true  word,"  said  the  probationer 
of  six  years'  standing. 

"  So,"  continued  Tammas,  "  I  speered  at  the 
porter  at  the  station  the  wey  to  the  manse.  *  It's 
at  the  fit  o'  the  Back  Street,'  says  he,  *  but  some- 
body telled  me  that  he  was  no  leevin'  in't  noo  ;  but 
gang  ye  ower  there  to  the  shop  o'  yin  o'  the  elders, 
an'  he'll  be  sure  to  ken.' 

"  The  master  was  oot,  but  a  laddie  telled  me 
that  the  minister  was  lee\  in'  aboot  twa  mile  oot 
the  Carlisle  Road,  but  he  didna  think  that  he  was 
at  hame,  for  there  had  been  naething  sent  up  to 
the  hoose  for  a  month.  This  was  real  cheerfu' 
hearin*  for  me  wi'  my  heavy  bag  and  an  umbrella, 
but  there  was  naething  for  it  but  to  gang  on.  So 
I  trudged  away  doon  the  Carlisle  Road,  glaur  to 
the  oxters,  an'  changin'  my  bag  frae  the  yae  side 
to  the  ither  as  if  I  war  swingin'  it  for  a  wager.  I 
speered  at  every  hoose,  but  the  answer  was  aye, 
'  It's  aboot  a  mile  farther  doon  ! '  They  maun  be 
poor  road  surveyors  in  that  direction,  for  theii  miles 
arc  like  sea  miles  for  length. 


THE  PROBATIONER.  75 

**  At  the  hinner  en'  I  fand  the  hoose,  by  scartin' 
a  match  an'  readin'  the  plate  on  the  gate.  I  rang 
the  bell,  but  a'  was  in  darkness.  I  stood  a  gey 
while  in  the  rain,  an'  I  declare  that  my  thochts 
were  no  ministerial. 

"  Presently  a  wunda'  gaes  up  somewhere  in  the 
garret  stories,  an'  a  held  pops  oot. 

" '  Fa'  be  you  ? '  it  says. 

" '  I'm  the  minister  that's  to  preach  for  Mr. 
Fergusson  the  morn,'  says  I,  '  an'  I'll  thank  you  to 
let  me  in  oot  o'  the  rain.' 

"  *  I  ken  nocht  aboot  you  ! '  it  says,  and  doon 
gaed  the  wunda. 

"  Noo  I  tell  you  that  if  that  woman  hadna  letten 
me  in  at  that  time  o'  nicht  I  wad  hae  driven  a  stane 
through  the  gless,  if  they  had  had  me  afore  the 
Presbytery  for't.  But  in  a  wee  the  door  opened  an' 
the  lassie  lets  me  in. 

"  She  had  just  come  from  the  Aberdeenshire 
Deeside  that  day,  and  was  as  great  a  stranger  as 
myself  But  yince  in,  she  did  verra  weel  for  my 
comfort.  But  as  she  kenned  naething  about  the 
hours  of  worship  I  had  to  go  awa'  doon  to  the  toon 
early  on  the  neest  mornin'  to  find  oot  when  the 
service  was.  Then  back  up  I  cam'  again  for  the 
sermons  an'  my  breakfast.  The  service  was  at  twal, 
an'  aboot  half-past  eleeven  I  was  at  the  kirk,  an' 


76  THE  PROBATIONER. 

sittin'  waitin'  in  the  vestry  for  somebody  to  come 
to  speak  to  me,  for  I  had  spoken  to  nobody  bena 
[except]  the  servant  lass  frae  Aberdeen  an'  the  shop 
laddie  that  I  had  met  on  the  street. 

"  As  I  sat  in  the  vestry  I  could  hear  them  firslin 
aboot  the  door,  an'  the  fowk  comin'  in,  but  naebody 
lookit  near  me  till  maybe  five  meenutes  to  twal'. 
Then  a  man  cam'  in  that  I  took  to  be  the  precentor, 
so  I  gied  him  what  I  usually  gied  to  toun  kirks,  a 
psalm,  a  paraphrase,  an'  twa  hymns.  He  took 
them,  put  on  his  glesses,  an'  lookit  at  my  writin' 
gye  scornfu'  like. 

"  *  Hymns  ! '  he  says.  *  Na,  we  sing  nae  hymns 
here — na— an'  we're  nana  sae  carin'  aboot  para- 
phrases, neyther ! ' 

"This  was  a  thocht  discouragin',  but  I  said 
that  I  would  gladly  gie  him  all  the  four  psalms, 
that  I  could  easily  find  psalms  to  suit  my 
subject 

"  '  Ay,  an'  I  think  they  micht  hae  served  ye  too,' 
says  he. 

"  I  went  up  to  the  pulpit  and  preached,  but  what 
I  said  I  do  not  ken  ;  I  had  gotten  my  surmon  frae 
the  precentor,  and  felt  juist  like  a  schule-boy  that 
has  come  to  the  dominie  withoot  his  lesson.  When 
I  had  feenished  I  thocht  that  some  o'  the  elders 
wad  speak  to  me,  but  not  a  one  showed  face.     I 


THE  PROBATIONER.  77 

gaed  into  the  vestry  an'  got  my  hat,  an'  so  back  to 
the  manse  on  the  Carlisle  Road, 

"  A  laddie  met  me  at  the  gate.  '  You're  the 
minister  that  preached  the  day — hae  ! '  says  he.  It 
was  a  note  frae  somebody  I  didna  ken  tellin'  me 
that  I  was  expected  to  address  the  Sabbath  Schule 
that  efternune  at  three  o'clock.  So  I  slippit  doon, 
an'  fand  that  the  schule  only  gaed  in  at  that  hour. 
So  I  had  to  wait  sittin'  by  mysel'  till  aboot  the 
half-hour.  Then  a  man  cam'  an'  chappit  me  on 
the  shoother,  *  Ye'll  hae  twunty  meenites,'  he  says. 

" '  Twunty  meenites  ?  '  says  I,  no  seein'  his  drift. 

"  *  Ay,'  he  says,  '  to  address  the  bairns  ! ' 

"  So  I  talked  to  the  bairns  for  a  wee,  a  job  I  aye 
likit,  an'  at  the  end  I  pat  up  a  prayer  and  sat  for 
maybes  half  a  meenit  efter  withoot  lookin'  up. 
Wull  you  believe  me,"  said  the  probationer,  "  that 
when  I  liftit  my  held  there  wasna  a  body,  bairn, 
teacher,  or  superintendent,  in  the  place? 

"So  yince  mair  gaed  I  back  alang  that  wear)' 
Carlisle  Road  withoot  a  word  frae  leevin'  craitur. 

"'  Heaven  do  so  to  me  an'  more  also,'  said  I  to 
mysel',  *  if  I  ever  mislippen  a  probationer  when 
yince  I'm  settled  in  the  Dowiedens  ! '  Next 
mornin'  I  raise  gye  an'  early,  an'  shook  off  the  dust 
of  Elvanby  frae  my  feet  for  a  testimony  again  an 
unkindly  parish,   an'  a  minister  and  people  that 


78  THE  PROBATIONER. 

muzzled  into  silence  the  ox  that  treadeth  out  the 
corn,  though  I  fear  that  I  gied  them  mair  cauff  than 
corn  that  day." 

"  And  nae  wunner,"  said  Mrs.  MaWhurr. 

"  They  wad  just  be  blate  to  pit  themsel's  forrit, 
Tammas  ! "  said  I.  "  They  wadna  Hke  to  speak  to 
a  strainge  minister." 

'•  Strainge  minister  here,  strainge  minister  there. 
I'll  gang  nae  mair  to  yon  toon  !  "  says  he.  "  They 
made  me  fine  an'  blate.  When  I'm  settled  in  the 
Dowiedens " 

"  An'  mairrit  to  that  wifie's  dochter  that  pat  her 
airms " 

"  Haud  yer  tongue,  man  !  "  cried  my  mistress  to 
me  in  a  mainner  that  couldna  be  ca'ed  mair  than 
ceeviL 


THE    LAMMAS    PREACHING. 

"And  I  further  intimate,"  said  the  minister,  "  that 
I  will  preach  this  evening  at  Cauldshaws,  and  my 
text  will  be  from  the  ninth  chapter  of  the  book  of 
Ecclesiastes  and  the  tenth  verse,  *  Whatsoever  thy 
hand  findeth  to  do,  do  it  with  thy  might' " 

"  Save  us,"  said  Janet  MacTaggart,  "  he's  clean 
forgotten  'if  it  be  the  Lord's  wull.'  Maybe  he'll 
be  for  gaun  whether  it's  His  wull  or  no' — he's  a 
sair  masterfu'  man,  the  minister  ;  but  he  comes 
frae  the  Machars,i  an'  kens  little  aboot  the  jealous 
God  we  hae  amang  the  hills  o'  Gallawa' ! " 

The  minister  continued,  in  the  same  high,  level 
tone  in  which  he  did  his  preaching,  "  There  are  a 
number  of  sluggards  who  lay  the  weight  of  their 
own  laziness  on  the  Almighty,  saying,  *  I  am  a 
worm  and  no  man — how  should  I  strive  with  my 
Maker,'  whenever  they  are  at  strife  with  their  own 
sluggishness.     There  will  be  a  word  for  all  such 

*  The  Eastern  Lowlands  of  Wigtonshire. 

79 


8o  THE  LAMMAS  PREACHING. 

this  evening  at  the  farmtown  of  Cauldshaws,  pre- 
sently occupied  by  Gilbert  M'Kissock  —  public 
worship  to  begin  at  seven  o'clock." 

The  congregation  of  Barnessock  kirk  tumbled 
amicably  over  its  own  heels  with  eagerness  to  get 
into  the  kirkyaird  in  order  to  settle  the  momen- 
tous question,  "  Whose  back  was  he  on  the  day  ? " 

Robert  Kirk,  Carsethorn,  had  a  packet  of  pepper- 
mint lozenges  in  the  crown  of  his  "  lum  "  hat — 
deponed  to  by  Elizabeth  Douglas  or  Barr,  in 
Barnbogrie,  whose  husband,  Weelum  Barr,  put  on 
the  hat  of  the  aforesaid  Robert  Kirk  by  mistake 
for  his  own,  whereupon  the  peppermints  fell  to  the 
floor  and  rolled  under  the  pews  in  most  unseemly 
fashion.  Elizabeth  Kirk  is  of  opinion  that  this 
should  be  brought  to  the  notice  of  Session,  she 
herself  always  taking  her  peppermint  while  gen- 
teelly wiping  her  mouth  with  the  corner  of  her 
handkerchief  Robert  Kirk,  on  being  put  to  the 
question,  admits  the  facts,  but  says  that  it  was  his 
wife  put  them  there  to  be  near  her  hand. 

The  minister,  however,  ever  ready  with  his  word, 
brought  him  to  shame  by  saying,  "  O  Robert, 
Robert,  that  was  just  what  Adam  said,  '  The 
woman  Thou  gavest  me,  she  gave  me  to  eat ! ' " 
The  aforesaid  Robert  Kirk  thinks  that  it  is 
meddling  with  the  original  Hebrew  to  apply  this 


THE  LAMMAS  PREACHING.  8l 

to  peppermints,  and  also  says  that  Elizabeth  Kirk 
is  an  impident  besom,  and  furthermore  that,  as  all 

the  country  well  knows (Here  the  chronicler 

omits  much  matter  actionable  in  the  civil  courts 
of  the  realm.) 

"Janet,"  said  the  minister  to  his  housekeeper, 
"  I  am  to  preach  to-night  at  Cauldshaws  on  the 
text,  '  Whatsoever  thy  hand  findeth  to  do,  do  it 
with  thy  might.' " 

"  I  ken,"  said  Janet,  "  I  saw  it  on  yer  desk.  I 
pat  it  ablow  the  clock  for  fear  the  wun's  o'  heeven 
micht  blaw  it  awa'  like  chaff,  an'  you  couldna  do 
wantin'  it ! " 

"  Janet  MacTaggart,"  said  the  minister,  tartly, 
"bring  in  the  denner,  and  do  not  meddle  with 
what  does  not  concern  you.** 

Janet  could  not  abide  read  sermons;  her  natural 
woman  rose  against  them.  She  knew,  as  she  had 
said,  that  God  was  a  jealous  God,  and,  with  regard 
to  the  minister,  she  looked  upon  herself  as  His 
vicegerent. 

"  He's  young  an*  terrable  ram-stam  an'  opeenion- 
ated — fu'  o'  buik-lear,  but  wi'  little  gracious  experi- 
ence. For  a'  that,  the  root  o'  the  maitter  's  in 
'im,"  said  Janet,  not  unhopefully. 

"  I'm  gaun  to  preach  at  Cauldshaws,  and  my 
text's  *  Whatsoever  thy  hand  findeth  to  do,  do  it 


82  THE  LAMMAS  PREACHING. 

with  thy  might,' "  said  the  minister  to  the  pre- 
centor that  afternoon,  on  the  manse  doorstep. 

"  The  Lord's  no'  in  a'  his  thochts.  I'll  gang  wi' 
the  lad  mysel',"  said  the  precentor. 

Now,  Galloway  is  so  much  out  of  the  world  that 
the  Almighty  has  not  there  lifted  His  hand  from 
reward  and  punishment,  from  guiding  and  restrain- 
ing, as  He  has  done  in  big  towns  where  everything 
goes  by  machinery.  Man  may  say  that  there  is 
no  God  when  he  only  sees  a  handbreadth  of 
smoky  heaven  between  the  chimney-pots  ;  but  out 
on  the  fields  of  oats  and  bear,  and  up  on  the 
screes  of  the  hillsides,  where  the  mother  granite 
sticks  her  bleaching  ribs  through  the  heather,  men 
have  reached  great  assurance  on  this  and  other 
matters. 

The  burns  were  running  red  with  the  mighty  July 
rain  when  Douglas  Maclellan  started  over  the 
meadows  and  moors  to  preach  his  sermon  at  the 
farmtown  of  Cauldshaws.  He  had  thanked  the 
Lord  that  morning  in  his  opening  prayer  for 
"the  bounteous  rain  wherewith  He  had  seen  meet 
to  refresh  His  weary  heritage." 

His  congregation  silently  acquiesced,  "for  what,' 
said  they,  "  could  a  man  from  the  Machars  be 
expected  to  ken  about  meadow  hay  }  " 

When  the  minister  and  the  precentor  got  to  the 


THE  LAMMAS  PREACHING.  83 

foot  of  the  manse  loaning,  they  came  upon  the 
parish  ne'er-do-weel,  Ebie  Kirgan,  who  kept  him- 
self in  employment  by  constantly  scratching  his 
head,  trying  to  think  of  something  to  do,  and 
whose  clothes  were  constructed  on  the  latest 
sanitary  principles  of  ventilation.  The  ruins  of 
Ebie's  hat  were  usually  tipped  over  one  eye  for 
enlarged  facilities  of  scratching  in  the  rear. 

"  If  it's  yer  wull,  minister,  I'll  come  to  hear  ye 
the  nicht.  It's  drawing  to  mair  rain,  I'm  thinkin' !  " 
said  the  Scarecrow. 

"  I  hope  the  discourse  may  be  profitable  to  you, 
Ebenezer,  for,  as  I  intimated  this  morning,  I  am  to 
preach  from  the  text, '  Whatsoever  thy  hand  findeth 
to  do,  do  it  with  thy  might'  " 

"  Ay,  minister,"  said  Ebie,  relieving  his  right 
hand,  and  tipping  his  hat  over  the  other  eye  to 
give  his  left  free  play.  So  the  three  struck  over 
the  fields,  making  for  the  thorn  tree  at  the  corner, 
where  Robert  Kirk's  dyke  dipped  into  the  standing 
water  of  the  meadow. 

"  Do  you  think  ye  can  manage  it,  Maister 
Maclellan  } "  said  the  precentor.  "  Ye're  wat  half- 
way up  the  leg  already." 

"  An'  there's  sax  feet  o'  black  moss  water  in  the 
Laneburn  as  sure  as  I'm  a  leevin'  sowl,"  added 
Ebie  Kirgan. 


84  THE  LAMMAS  PREACHING 

"  I'm  to  preach  at  Cauldshaws,  and  my  text  is, 
"  Whatsoever  thy  hand  findeth  to  do,  do  it  with 
thy  might !  '"  said  the  minister,  stubbornly  gloom- 
ing from  under  the  eaves  of  his  eyebrows  as  the 
swarthy  men  from  the  Machars  are  wont  to  do. 
His  companions  said  no  more.  They  came  to 
Camelon  Lane,  where  usually  Robert  Kirk  had  a 
leaping  pole  on  either  bank  to  assist  the  traveller 
across,  but  both  poles  had  gone  down  the  water  in 
the  morning  to  look  for  Robert's  meadow  hay. 

"  Tak'  care,  Maister  Maclellan,  ye'll  be  in  deep 
water  afore  ye  ken.  O  man,  ye  had  far  better 
turn  ! " 

The  precentor  stood  up  to  his  knees  in  water  on 
what  had  once  been  the  bank,  and  wrung  his 
hands.  But  the  minister  pushed  steadily  ahead 
into  the  turbid  and  sluggish  water. 

"  I  canna  come,  oh,  I  canna  come,  for  I'm  a  man 
that  has  a  family." 

"  It's  no'  your  work  ;  stay  where  ye  are,"  cried 
the  minister,  without  looking  over  his  shoulder  ; 
"  but  as  for  me,  I'm  intimated  to  preach  this  night 
at  Cauldshaws,  and  my  text " 

Here  he  stepped  into  a  deep  hole,  and  his  text 
was  suddenly  shut  within  him  by  the  gurgle  of 
moss  witer  in  his  throat.  His  arms  rose  above  the 
surface   like  the    black  spars  of  a  windmill.     But 


THE  LAMMAS  PREACHING.  85 

Ebie  Kirgan  sculled  himself  swiftly  out,  swimming 
with  his  shoeless  feet,  and  pushed  the  minister 
before  him  to  the  further  bank — the  water  gushing 
out  of  rents  in  his  clothes  as  easily  as  out  of  the 
gills  of  a  fish. 

The  minister  stood  with  unshaken  confidence  on 
the  bank.  He  ran  peat  water  like  a  spout  in  a 
thunder  plump,  and  black  rivulets  of  dye  were 
trickling  from  under  his  hat  down  his  brow  and 
dripping  from  the  end  of  his  nose. 

"  Then  you'll  not  come  any  farther  ?  "  he  called 
across  to  the  precentor. 

"  I  canna,  oh,  I  canna  ;  though  I'm  most  awfu' 
wullin'.  Kirsty  wad  never  forgie  me  gin  I  was  to 
droon," 

"  Then  I'll  e'en  have  to  raise  the  tune  myself — 
though  three  times  'Kilmarnock'  is  a  pity,"  said 
the  minister,  turning  on  his  heel  and  striding  away 
through  the  shallow  sea,  splashing  the  water  as 
high  as  his  head  with  a  kind  of  headstrong  glee 
which  seemed  to  the  precentor  a  direct  defiance  of 
Providence.  Ebie  Kirgan  followed  half  a  dozen 
steps  behind.  The  support  of  the  precentor's  lay 
semT-equality  taken  from  him,  he  began  to  regret 
that  he  had  come,  and  silently  and  ruefully  plunged 
along  after  the  minister  through  the  water-logged 
meadows.      They   came   in   time   to   the   foot    of 


86  THE  LAMMAS  PREACHING. 

Robert  Kirk's  march  dyke,  and  skirted  it  a  hun- 
dred yards  upward  to  avoid  the  deep  pool  in 
which  the  Laneburn  waters  were  swirling.  The 
minister  climbed  silently  up  the  seven-foot  dyke, 
pausing  a  second  on  the  top  to  balance  himself  for 
his  leap  to  the  other  side.  As  he  did  so  Ebie 
Kirgan  saw  that  the  dyke  was  swaying  to  the  fall, 
having  been  weakened  by  the  rush  of  water  on  the 
farther  side.  He  rushed  instantly  at  the  minister, 
and  gave  him  a  push  with  both  hands  which 
caused  Mr.  Maclellan  to  alight  on  his  feet  clear  of 
the  falling  stones.  The  dyke  did  not  so  much  fall 
outward  as  settle  down  on  its  own  ruins.  Ebie 
fell  on  his  face  among  the  stones  with  the  impetus 
of  his  own  eagerness.  He  arose,  however,  quickly — 
only  limping  slightly  from  what  he  called  a  "  bit 
chack  "  (nip)  on  the  leg  between  two  stones. 

"That  was  a  merciful  Providence,  Ebenezer," 
said  the  minister,  solemnly;  "I  hope  you  are  duly 
thankful!" 

"  Dod,  I  am  that ! "  replied  Ebie,  scratching  his 
head  vigorously  with  his  right  hand  and  rubbing, 
his  leg  with  his  left.  "  Gin  I  hadna  gi'en  ye  that 
dunch,  ye  micht  hae  preachen  nane  at  Cauldshaws 
this  nicht." 

They  now  crossed  a  fairly  level  clover  field, 
dank  and  laid  with  wet.     The  scent  of  the  clover 


THE  LAMMAS  PREACHING.  87 

rose  to  their  nostrils  with  almost  overpowering 
force.  There  was  not  a  breath  of  air.  The  sky 
was  blue  and  the  sun  shining.  Only  a  sullen  roar 
came  over  the  hill,  sounding  in  the  silence  like  the 
rush  of  a  train  over  a  far-away  viaduct. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  queried  the  minister,  stopping 
to  listen. 

Ebie  took  a  brisk  sidelong  look  at  him. 

"  I'm  some  dootsome  that'll  be  the  Skyreburn 
coming  doon  off  o'  Cairnsmuir  !  " 

The  minister  tramped  unconcernedly  on.  Ebie 
Kirgan  stared  at  him. 

"  He  canna  ken  what  a  '  Skyreburn  warnin* '  is 
— he'll  be  thinkin'  it's  some  bit  Machar's  burn  that 
the  laddies  set  their  whurlie  mills  in.  But  he'll 
turn  richt  eneuch  when  he  sees  Skyreburn  roarin' 
reed  in  a  Lammas  flood,  I'm  thinkin'  1" 

They  took  their  way  over  the  shoulder  of  the 
hill  in  the  beautiful  evening,  leaning  eagerly  for- 
ward to  get  the  first  glimpse  of  the  cause  of  that 
deep  and  resonant  roar.  In  a  moment  they  saw 
below  them  a  narrow  rock-walled  gulley,  ten  or 
fifteen  yards  across,  filled  to  the  brim  with  rushing 
water.  It  was  not  black  peat  water  like  the 
Camelon  Lane,  but  it  ran  red  as  keel,  flecked  now 
and  then  with  a  revolving  white  blur  as  one  of  the 
Cauldshaws  sheep  spun  downward  to  the  sea,  with 


88  THE  LAMMAS  PREACHING. 

four   black    feet   turned  pitifully  up   to  the   blue 
sky. 

Ebie  looked  at  the  minister.  "  He'll  turn  noo  if 
he's  mortal,"  he  said.  But  the  minister  held  on. 
He  looked  at  the  water  up  and  down  the  roaring 
stream.  On  a  hill  above,  the  farmer  of  Cauld- 
shaws,  having  driven  all  his  remaining  sheep 
together,  sat  down  to  watch.  Seeing  the  minister, 
he  stood  up  and  excitedly  waved  him  back.  But 
Douglas  Maclellan  from  the  Machars  never  gave 
him  a  look,  and  his  shouting  was  of  less  effect  than 
if  he  had  been  crying  to  an  untrained  collie. 

The  minister  looked  long  up  the  stream,  and  at 
a  point  where  the  rocks  came  very  close  together, 
and  many  stunted  pines  were  growing,  he  saw  one 
which,  having  stood  on  the  immediate  brink,  had 
been  so  much  undercut  that  it  leaned  over  the 
gulley  like  a  fishing-rod.  With  a  keen  glance 
along  its  length,  the  minister,  jamming  his  drip- 
ping soft  felt  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head,  was 
setting  foot  on  the  perilous  slope  of  the  uneven 
red-brown  trunk,  when  Ebie  Kirgan  caught  him 
sharply  by  the  arm. 

"  It's  no'  for  me  to  speak  to  a  minister  at 
ordinar'  times,"  he  stammered,  gathering  courage 
in  his  desperation  ;  "  but,  oh,  man,  it's  fair  murder 
to  try  to  gang  ower  that  water  1 " 


THE  LAMMAS  PREACHING.  bg 

The  minister  wrenched  himself  free,  and  sprang 
along  the  trunk  with  wonderful  agility. 

"  I'm  intimated  to  preach  at  Cauldshaws  this 
night,  and  my  text  is,  '  Whatsoever  thy  hand 
findeth  to  do,  do  it  with  thy  might ! '"  he  shouted. 

He  made  his  way  up  and  up  the  slope  of  the  fir 
tree,  which,  having  little  grip  of  the  rock,  dipped 
and  swayed  under  his  tread.  Ebie  Kirgan  fell  on 
his  knees  and  prayed  aloud.  He  had  not  prayed 
since  his  stepmother  boxed  his  ears  for  getting 
into  bed  without  saying  his  prayers  twenty  years 
ago.  This  had  set  him  against  it.  But  he  prayed 
now,  and  to  infinitely  more  purpose  than  his 
minister  had  recently  done.  But  when  the  climber 
had  reached  the  branchy  top,  and  was  striving  to 
get  a  few  feet  farther,  in  order  to  clear  the  surging 
linn  before  he  made  his  spring,  Ebie  rose  to  his 
feet,  leaving  his  prayer  unfinished.  He  sent  forth 
an  almost  animal  shriek  of  terror.  The  tree  roots 
cracked  like  breaking  cables  and  slowly  gave  way, 
an  avalanche  of  stones  plumped  into  the  whirl,  and 
the  top  of  the  fir  crashed  downwards  on  the  rocks 
of  the  opposite  bank. 

"  Oh  man,  call  on  the  name  of  the  Lord  ! "  cried 
Ebie  Kirgan,  the  ragged  preacher,  at  the  top  of  his 
voice. 

Then  he  saw  something  detach  itself  from  the 


90  THE  LAMMAS  PREACHING. 

tree  as  it  rebounded,  and  for  a  moment  rise  and  fall 
black  against  the  sunset.  Then  Ebie  the  Outcast 
fell  on  his  face  like  a  dead  man. 


In  the  white  coverleted  "  room  "  of  the  farmtown 
of  Cauldshaws,  a  white-faced  lad  lay  with  his 
eyes  closed,  and  a  wet  cloth  on  his  brow.  A 
large-boned,  red-cheeked,  motherly  woman  stole 
to  and  fro  with  a  foot  as  light  as  a  fairy.  The 
sleeper  stirred  and  tried  to  lift  an  unavailing  hand 
to  his  head.  The  mistress  of  Cauldshaws  stole  to 
his  bedside  as  he  opened  his  eyes.  She  laid  a 
restraining  hand  on  him  as  he  strove  to  rise. 

"  Let  me  up,"  said  the  minister,  "  I  must  away, 
for  I'm  intimated  to  preach  at  Cauldshaws,  and 
my  text  is,  '  Whatsoever  thy  hand  findeth  to  do, 
do  it  with  thy  might.'  " 

"  My  bonny  man,"  said  the  goodwife,  tenderly, 
"  you'll  preach  best  on  the  broad  o'  yer  back  this 
mony  a  day,  an'  when  ye  rise  your  best  text  will 
be,  *  He  sent  from  above,  He  took  me,  and  drew 
me  out  of  many  waters  1 ' " 


THE    TRAGEDY  OF  DUNCAN   DUN- 
CANSON,   SCHOOLMASTER, 

SOMETIME    MINISTER    OF    THE    PARISH    OF 
SHAWS:   DEPOSED   FOR   DRUNKENNESS. 

Duncan  Duncanson,  parochial  schoolmaster  in 
the  parish  of  Nether  Dullarg,  stood  at  the  door  of 
his  schoolhouse,  shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand. 
He  looked  down  the  road  and  up  the  road,  but  no 
one  was  in  sieht.  Not  a  leaf  moved  that  breathless 
July  morning.  It  was  yet  too  early  for  the  scholars 
to  come,  and  indeed  being  high  haytime  the 
dominie  did  not  expect  a  large  attendance.  He 
was  not  watching  the  stray  collie  puppy  which 
made  noisy  demonstrations  against  the  blue  bottles 
near  the  water  spout  at  the  foot  of  the  playground. 
He  was  looking  out  for  a  tall  girl  carrying  a  black 
bag.  To  his  mind  she  had  delayed  too  long,  and 
he  was  muttering  what  seemed  by  the  gruff  tones 
to  be  threats,  but  which  was  in  reality  something 
much  milder. 


92     THE  TRAGEDY  OF  DUNCAN  DUNCANSON. 

"  Never  was  there  sic  a  lassie ;  she  canna  even 
come  straight  back  from  the  heid  o' the  street!" 
he  said,  complain ingly.  "  There's  no'  a  dowg  in 
the  Dullarg  but  she  maun  clap,  an'  no'  a  pussy 
sleepin'  in  the  sun  but  she  maun  cross  the  road 
to  stroke.  She  gets  hersel'  fair  covered  wi'  dirt 
playin'  wi'  the  laddies  ;  she'll  even  set  doon  the 
black  bag  to  play  for  keeps  wi'  the  boys  at  the 
bools,  an'  her  comin'  on  for  fifteen." 

He  sighed  as  though  this  were  a  deep  grief  to 
him,  and  a  tear  stood,  with  a  kind  of  melancholy 
entirely  unsuited  to  the  slightness  of  the  occasion, 
in  his  unsteady  eye  of  watery  blue.  But  it  was 
not  at  all  the  shortcomings  of  the  "  lassie "  that 
filled  his  heart  He  kept  muttering  under  his 
breath : 

"If  my  Flora  had  but  had  her  ain — shame  to 
you,  Duncan  Duncanson,  shame  to  you,  shame 
to  you,  she  micht  hae  been  a  dochter  o'  the 
manse." 

Suddenly  there  was  a  glint  as  of  sunshine  in  a 
shady  place  among  the  trees  at  the  foot  of  the 
inclined  slope  of  beaten  earth  which  was  called  the 
playground.  So  steep  was  it,  that  when  a  scholar 
fell  anywhere  upon  it  he  rolled  over  and  over  till 
brought  up  by  the  dyke.  A  tall  girl  came  up  the 
steps  with  a  hop,  skip  and  jump,  took  the  dominie 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  DUNCAN  DUNCANSON.    93 

round  the  neck  in  a  disconiposing  manner,  swung 
him  on  his  heels  as  on  a  pivot,  and  puslied  him 
into  the  school. 

"  There,"  she  said,  "  that's  the  last  time  that  I 
gang  for  your  bag.  I  wonder  that  you  are  not 
ashamed  to  sen'  your  daughter  to  the  public-hoose 
for  a  black  bag  that  every  bairn  kens  what's  in, 
every  Tuesday  and  Friday,  an'  you  the  maister  ! " 

Duncan  Duncanson  stood  knitting  his  broad 
smooth  brow,  and  clasping  and  unclasping  his 
hands  nervously.  But  he  said  nothing.  His 
attention  was  irresolutely  divided  between  his 
daughter,  who  stood  before  him  with  arms  akimbo, 
the  image  of  a  petty  tyrant,  and  the  black  bag 
which  more  and  more  strongly  drew  his  gaze. 
"  I'll  slip  ower,"  he  said,  "an'  see  gin  there's  a  big 
eneuch  coal  on  the  fire  to  keep  it  in  1"  So,  taking 
the  black  bag  in  his  hand,  he  went  out  like  a 
chidden  child  glad  to  escape  from  observation. 
The  girl  maintained  her  dignified  position  till  he 
was  out  of  sight,  then  threw  herself  down  on  the 
hacked  and  ink-stained  desk  and  cried  as  if  her 
heart  would  break. 

"  Oh,  my  faither,  my  faithcr,"  she  sobbed,  "  an' 
him  yince  a  minister." 

When  the  dominie  returned,  with  a  flush  on  his 
cheek  which  slowly  ebbed  away,  he  found  his  girl 


94     THE  TRAGEDY  OF  DUNCAN  DUNCANSON. 

in  the  midst  of  a  riotous  game  of  "  steal  the 
bonnets,"  which  was  only  played  at  by  the  aristo- 
crats of  the  school.  Flora  Duncanson  was  easily 
empress  both  in  the  schoolhouse  and  in  the  school 
of  the  Nether  Dullarg ;  and  except  when  her 
father  took  one  of  his  occasional  turns  of  wild  and 
ungovernable  temper  after  too  close  devotion  to 
the  black  bag  which  he  had  returned  from  locking 
in  its  skeleton  cupboard,  she  was  also  the  mistress 
of  the  master. 

Every  one  in  Nether  Dullarg  knew  the  history 
of  Duncan  Duncanson.  He  had  taught  nearly  all 
the  younger  portion  of  them,  for  it  was  many 
years  since  he  was  appointed  parish  teacher  in 
Nether  Dullarg,  long  before  Mr.  Pitbye  came  to  be 
minister.  Duncan  Duncanson  was  college  bred. 
More  than  that  he  had  been  a  minister,  and  no 
"  stickit "  minister  either,  but  duly  licensed, 
ordained,  and  inducted — also,  alas  !  deposed. 
There  had  been  a  black  bag  even  in  those  early 
days,  as  Duncan  Duncanson  knew  to  his  cost.  His 
had  been  the  good  seed  sown  among  the  abundance 
of  thorns.  These  two,  thorns  and  wheat,  grew  up 
together  into  a  deadly  crop,  and  together  were  cut 
down  in  that  terrible  day  of  reckoning  when  the 
presbytery  of  Pitscottie  solemnly  deposed  Duncan 
Duncanson,    sometime    minister  of  the  parish  of 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  DUNCAN  DUNCANSON.     95 

Shaws,  from  the  office  of  the  ministry  o\  the  Kirk 
of  Scotland. 

Then  the  presbytery  of  that  day  adjourned  to 
the  Gordon  Arms  to  wash  down  their  presbyterial 
dinner  with  plentiful  jorums  of  toddy,  and  Duncan 
Duncanson  sat  for  the  last  time  in  his  study  in  the 
manse  of  the  Shaws,  sipping  and  filling  the  demon 
bottle  which  he  carried  like  a  familiar  spirit  in  his 
black  bag.     This  was  his  Day  of  Judgment  ;  and 
the   hopes   of  his   youth,   the    aspirations   of  his 
middle  life,  the  forecasts  of  a  quiet  age  were  all 
consumed  in  the   flaming  wrath  of  it.     This  was 
all  because  the  Reverend  Duncan  Duncanson  had 
fallen  down  one  Sabbath  day  at  the  front  door  of 
the  Shaws  manse.     There  were  those  in  the  pres- 
bytery who  had  often  fallen  down   at  their  back 
doors,  but  then  this  made  a  great  difference,  and 
they  all  prayed  fervently  for  the  great  sinner  and 
backslider  who  had  slidden  at  his  front  door  in  the 
sight  of  men.     The  moderator,  who  in  the  presby- 
tery had  called  Duncan  everything  that  he  could 
lay  his  tongue  to,  reflected  as  he  drove  home  that 
he  had  let  him  off  far  too  easily.     Then  he  stooped 
down  and  felt  in  the  box   of  his  gig  if  the  two- 
gallon  "  greybeard  "   from  the  Gordon  Arms  were 
sitting  safely  on  its  own  bottom.     So  much  respon- 
sibility made  him  nervous  on  a  rough  road. 


96     THE  TRAGEDY  OF  DUNCAN  DUNCANSON. 

Duncan  Duncanson,  no  longer  Reverend,  at 
once  returned  to  his  native  village  to  the  house  of 
his  father  and  mother,  the  daily  cause  and  witness 
of  their  grey  hairs  whitening  to  the  winter  of  the 
grave.  They  had  a  Httle  house  of  their  own,  and 
it  had  not  taken  all  their  slender  store  to  put  their 
lad  through  college  ;  for,  save  in  the  matter  of  the 
black  bag  and  its  inmate,  Duncan  Duncanson  was 
neither  spendthrift  nor  prodigal.  Before  he  left 
the  Shaws  he  was  to  have  been  married  to  the 
daughter  of  the  neighbouring  minister,  but  in  the 
wild  upheaval  of  that  earthquake  shock  she  obedi- 
ently gave  Duncan  up  as  soon  as  the  parish  had 
given  him  up ;  and  in  time  married  a  wealthy 
farmer  who  did  not  come  sober  home  from  market 
for  twenty  years. 

In  his  own  village  Duncan  was  looked  upon  with 
an  odd  kind  of  respect.  He  was  thought  to  have 
been  led  astray,  though  this  was  not  the  case — the 
devil,  together  with  the  weak  chin  and  unstable 
eye,  having  been  leading  enough.  He  was  looked 
on  as  "  byordnar' clever,"  "a  dungeon  o' learnin'." 
So,  after  some  years,  when  the  parochial  school  fell 
vacant,  the  minister  who  had  baptised  him,  and 
who  had  helped  him  lamely  with  his  rusty  scraps 
of  Latin  and  Greek  (Latin  as  far  as  "  Omnis 
Gallia  " — Greek,  the  alphabet  merely),  put  Duncan 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  DUNCAN  DUNCANSON.    97 

into  the  school,  sure  that  he  would  teach  the 
children  well  and  conscientiously,  and  hopeful 
that  he  might  ultimately  be  led  to  reform  ;  for 
ministers  are  sanguine  men,  at  least  all  who  do 
any  good  among  other  men. 

And  the  new  schoolmaster  had  indeed  done  his 
duty,  though  with  abundance  of  the  rod  and  some 
detriment  to  his  own  temper  and  the  cuticle  of 
his  pupils.  But  no  such  scholars  went  up  from 
three  counties  as  those  who  matriculated  straight 
from  the  hedge  school  of  the  parish  of  Dullarg 
during  the  reign  of  the  deposed  minister  of  the 
Shaws.  By  and  by  Duncan  picked  up  other  little 
bits  of  patronage — the  precentorship,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  the  inspectorship  of  poor,  and  ultimately 
the  registrarship  of  births,  deaths,  and  marriages. 
In  the  Dullarg  it  is  a  saying  that  we  "  keep  oor  ain 
fish  guts  for  oor  ain  sea  maws."  This  is  not  an  ex- 
pression common  in  the  higher  circles,  but  the  thing 
itself  is  common  enough  there.  Duncan  married 
a  village  girl,  who  had  made  him  a  good  wife 
during  her  short  life,  but  had  not  been  able  to 
master  the  bottle  imp.  She  had  left  him  one 
daughter,  our  imperious  beauty  of  the  yellow  locks. 

But  we  have  gone  afield  from  our  school.  The 
whole  building,  a  long  narrow  barn,  built  of  rough 
ashlar  work  with  many  small  windows,  never  all 


98     THE  TRAGEDY  OF  DUNCAN  DUNCANSON. 

whole  at  once,  was  sleepily  droning  with  the  morn- 
ing lessons.  Flora  Duncanson,  within  a  yard  of 
her  father,  was  making  paper  arrows  to  throw  at 
Andrew  Tait,  the  son  of  the  wealthy  farmer  who 
had  married  Duncan  Duncanson's  old  sweetheart. 
Andrew  was  a  long-limbed  lad,  known  as  "the 
fathom  o'  pump  water."  He  was  shy  and  thought- 
ful, prone  to  moon  in  corners,  a  lad  in  whom  could 
be  perceived  no  tincture  of  the  bucolic  clumsiness 
of  the  one  parent  or  the  faded  and  selfish  gentility 
of  the  other.  He  liked  to  be  teased  by  Flora 
Duncanson,  for  it  gave  him  an  opportunity  of  look- 
ing at  her  hair.  He  had  never  heard  of  Rossetti, 
but  he  said  in  his  heart,  "  Her  hair  that  lay  along 
her  back  was  yellow  like  ripe  corn  !  " 

The  ex-minister  sat  at  his  high  desk,  and  the 
hum  of  the  school  acted  soothingly  upon  his  un- 
steady nerves.  A  vision  began  to  assert  itself  of 
something  that  he  knew  to  be  on  one  shelf  of  his 
private  cupboard  in  the  little  dominie's  house 
adjoining  the  school.  Without  a  word  he  rose 
and  stepped  out.  Before  he  could  get  round  the 
school,  Flora  was  out  and  after  him.  Thereupon 
the  school  resolved  itself  into  a  pandemonium,  and 
Andrew  the  smith,  shoeing  his  horses  in  the  old 
"  smiddy "  at  the  foot  of  the  lane,  said  to  his 
apprentice,  "  The    dominie'll    be    oot   to  wat   his 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  DUNCAN  DUNCANSON.    99 

thrapple.  Oor  Wull  will  be  keepin*  the  schule  the 
noo  !  "  "  Wull  "  was  a  good-natured  clever  elder 
boy  who  was  supposed  to  take  charge  of  the  school 
in  the  absence  of  the  dominie.  This  he  did  usually 
by  stopping  the  promiscuous  fighting  and  scuffling 
which  went  on  all  round  the  school  and  organising 
a  stated  and  official  combat  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor  between  a  pair  of  well-matched  urchins. 
"  Let  all  things  be  done  decently  and  in  order " 
was  Wull's  motto. 

In  the  height  of  the  turmoil  a  great  brown  head 
presented  itself  at  the  door.  It  was  the  head  of 
big  red  "  Trusty,"  the  half-collie  half-St.  Bernard 
which  sometimes  accompanied  Andrew  Tait  to  the 
school,  and  played  about  outside  till  that  youth 
got  free  of  his  bondage,  when  the  pair  went 
joyously  homewards. 

No  sooner  was  he  spied  than  fifty  voices  invited 
him  to  enter.  He  came  in,  nothing  loath,  and 
crouched  beneath  the  desk  which  stood  against 
the  wall  by  the  window  where  sat  his  master  with 
some  bosom  cronies.  There  he  was  lying  con- 
cealed by  a  rampart  of  legs  and  slates  when  the 
master  entered  with  an  angry  frown  on  his  brow 
and  his  hat  jammed  over  his  forehead  m  a  way 
that  boded  no  good  to  the  school.  "  It's  gaun  to 
be  a  lickin'  day,"  said  Andrew  Tait,  with  an  air  of 


loo     THE  TRAGEDY  OF  DUNCAN  DUNCANSON. 

grim  foreboding.  All  was  quiet  in  a  moment,  for 
the  fear  of  Duncan  Duncanson  with  the  black  dog 
on  his  back  was  heavy  on  every  young  heart. 
Duncan  was  a  good  and  a  kindly  man,  and  would 
go  anywhere  to  help  a  neighbour  in  trouble,  but  he 
was  undoubtedly  savage  in  his  cups.  The  imp  of 
the  black  bag  was  in  possession. 

The  boys  trembled,  but  the  great  red  dog  lay 
quiet  as  pussy  with  his  immense  faithful  head 
pillowed  on  his  master's  knees.  The  dominie 
went  to  his  desk,  and  as  nothing  seemed  to  come 
of  his  ill-humour  the  school  gradually  returned  to 
its  condition  of  lazy  inattention.  Fred  Graham, 
the  boy  next  to  Andrew  Tait,  whispered,  "  Let  me 
stroke  the  doggie's  held." 

"  What'll  ye  gie's  ?  "  promptly  replied  Andrew, 
with  the  truly  boyish  commercial  spirit. 

"  A  peerie,"  said  his  friend. 

"An'  the  string?"  added  Andrew,  who  had  a 
corner  in  dogs  and  could  force  the  market.  So 
for  five  minutes  the  big  head  was  transferred  to 
Fred  Graham's  knee,  and  the  stroking  performed 
to  the  satisfaction  of  all  parties.  Then  the  next 
chance  had  been  for  some  time  disposed  of  to 
young  Sanny  M'Quhirr  of  Drumquhat,  who  being 
a  farmer's  son  never  would  have  thought  of 
stroking   a  dog   save   in  school,  for  the  laudable 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  DUNCAN  DUNCANSON     loi 

purpose  of  killing  time  and  doing  what  was 
forbidden. 

School  currency  was  changing  hands  and  finding 
its  way  into  Andrew  Tail's  pockets  at  a  great 
rate.  The  various  claimants  for  next  turn  were 
so  clamorous  that  they  created  some  little  dis- 
turbance, so  that  the  master,  seeing  a  cluster  of 
heads  together,  noiselessly  opened  the  lid  of  his 
desk  and  sent  the  "  taws  "  whirling  down  into  their 
midst  with  hearty  goodwill.  They  took  Fred 
Graham  round  the  neck,  and  he  at  once  rose  to 
receive  his  "  pawmies,"  the  price  of  his  general 
amusements.  He  had  not  been  the  guilty  person, 
but  he  hardly  denied  it  even  pro  fonnd,  so  accus- 
tomed were  they  in  that  school  to  the  Spartan 
code  that  the  sin  lay  not  in  the  action,  but  in  the 
stupidity  of  being  found  out. 

Through  the  gap  formed  by  the  absence  of  Fred 
on  his  melancholy  errand,  a  gap  like  that  made  by 
the  drawing  of  a  tooth,  the  master  saw  the  orange 
skin  and  solemn  eyes  of  "  Trusty  Tait,"  boys'  dog 
to  the  parish  school  of  Nether  Dullarg. 

His  wrath  turned  instantly  on  Trusty  and  his 
owner,  and  his  resentment  burned  with  a  sullen 
exaggerated  fury.  He  imagined  that  the  animal 
had  been  brought  into  the  school  in  order  directly 
to  insult  him. 


X02     THE  TRAGEDY  OF  DUNCAN  DUNCANSON. 

•'  Who  brought  that  dog  in  here?"  he  asked. 

"  Please,  sir,  he  juist  cam',"  said  Andrew  Tait 

"  Put  him  out  instantly  !  "  he  commanded. 

"  Please,  sir,  he'll  no'  gang." 

The  dominie  then  went  for  the  poker  and 
approached  the  big  dog,  whose  eyes  began  to 
shine  with  a  yellow  light  curiously  different  from 
that  which  had  been  in  them  when  the  boys  were 
stroking  his  shaggy  coat.  But  he  lay  motionless  as 
though  cut  in  stone,  nothing  living  about  him  except 
those  slumberous  eyes  with  the  red  spark  flaming  at 
the  bottom  of  them.  His  great  tail  lay  along  the 
floor  of  the  thickness  of  a  boy's  arm,  with  which 
it  was  his  wont  to  beat  the  floor  as  a  thresher 
beats  his  sheaves  at  the  approach  of  his  master. 
"  Trusty  "  Tait's  dignity  lay  in  his  tail.  His 
tenderest  feelings  had  their  abode  there.  By 
means  of  it  he  communicated  his  sentiments, 
belligerent  or  amicable.  When  his  master  ap- 
peared in  the  distance  he  wagged  it  ponderously, 
when  a  canine  friend  hove  in  sight  it  waved 
triumphantly,  at  the  sight  of  a  gipsy  or  a  tramp 
it  grew  oratory  with  the  expressiveness  of  its 
resentment.  As  the  dominie  approached  with  his 
weapon  of  warfare,  Andrew  Tait  drew  the  'i"on 
shod  of  his  clog,  which  he  would  have  called  his 
"cakkar,"  across  Trusty's  tail.     The  dog  instantly 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  DUNCAN  DUNCANSON     103 

halt  rose  on  his  forepaws,  showing  a  seam  of 
teeth  like  a  row  of  danger-signals,  and  gave  vent 
to  a  thunderous  subterranean  growl,  which  so 
intimidated  the  master  that  he  turned  his  anger 
on  the  victim  who  promised  less  resistance.  He 
dragged  Andrew  Tait  by  the  collar  of  his  jacket 
into  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and,  forgetting  in  his 
beclouded  condition  what  he  held  in  his  hand,  he 
struck  him  once  across  the  head  with  the  heavy 
iron  poker,  stretching  him  senseless  on  the  ground. 
The  whole  school  rose  to  its  feet  with  a  dull,  con- 
fused moan  of  horror,  but  before  any  one  could 
move  Trusty  had  the  dominie  by  the  throat,  threw 
him  backwards  over  a  form,  and  now  stood  guard, 
growling  with  short  blood-curdling  snorts  over  the 
prostrate  body  of  his  young  master.  Through  the 
open  door  Flora  Duncanson  came  flying,  for  the 
noise  had  told  her  even  in  the  cottage  that  some- 
thing unusual  was  happening. 

"  Go  home  at  once  !  "  she  called  to  the  children, 
and  though  there  were  many  there  older  than  she, 
without  a  murmur  they  filed  outside — remaining, 
however,  in  whispering  awestruck  groups  at  the 
foot  of  the  playground. 

"  Go  home,  father,  this  moment  ! "  she  said  to 
her  father,  who  had  gathered  himself  together,  and 
now  stood  shaking  and  uncertain  like  one  awakened 


ro4     THE  TRAGEDY  OF  DUNCAN  DUNCANSON. 

from  a  dream,  groping  stupidly  with  his  bands. 
The  old  man  turned  and  went  heavily  away  at  his 
daughter's  word.  He  even  thought  of  asking  her 
for  the  key  of  the  cupboard,  the  strife  for  the 
possession  of  which  had  been  the  beginning  of 
his  black  humour  ;  but  a  moment's  thought  con- 
vinced him  of  the  hopelessness  of  the  request. 
"  But  I  would  be  muckle  the  better  o't !  "  he  said, 
and  sighed — perhaps  for  a  moment  conscious  how 
much  the  worse  he  had  been  of  it. 

Flora  Duncanson  stood  over  the  senseless  body 
of  Andrew  Tait.  Trusty  was  licking  the  face.  A 
thin  streak  of  blood  stole  from  under  the  hair  and 
down  the  brow.  The  dog  growled  as  the  girl 
approached,  but  ultimately  allowed  her  to  come  to 
the  lad's  side. 

"  Oh,  Andra,  Andra ! "  she  said,  the  salt  water 
running  silently  down  her  cheeks. 

The  boy  slowly  opened  his  eyes,  looked  at  the 
dog  once  more  and  then  fixedly  at  Flora  Duncan- 
son.  He  always  liked  to  look  at  her  hair,  but  he 
had  never  noticed  till  now  how  beautiful  her  eyes 
were.  He  could  not  think  what  it  was  they 
reminded  him  of — something  he  had  seen  in  a 
dream,  he  thought. 

"  Dinna  greet.  Flora,"  he  said,  "  I'll  tell  my 
faither  that    I   fell,  an'    I'll    lick  ony  boy   in  the 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  DUNCAN  DUNCANSON.     105 

schule  that  says  I  didna  I     Oh,  Flora,  but  yer  e'en 

are  terrible  bonny  1 " 

•  •••••• 

This  is  all  a  very  old  story  in  the  Dullarg  now, 

and  Trusty  is  a  Nestor  among  dogs.     He  spends 

all   his  fine  afternoons  on  a   broomy  knowe    by 

himself,   for   what   with    puppies    and   bairns   the 

farm  is  not  the  quiet  place  that  it  used  to  be  when 

he  was  young.     Trusty  overlooks  a  wide  prospect 

were  his  faithful  dim  eyes  able  to  see,  but  as  it  is 

he  devotes  himself  chiefly  to  the  flies  which  settle 

upon  his  nose.     Over  there  on  the  slope  glimmer 

in  the   haze  the   white  stones  in  the  churchyard. 

Trusty  never  was  much  of  a  scholar,  in  spite  of  so 

long  frequenting  the  village  academy,  but  had  he 

been    able    to    read    he   might    have   found    this 

inscription  on  a  granite  tombstone  down  in  the  old 

kiikyard  by  the  Dee  water  : — 

OF 

DUNCAN    DUNCANSON, 

AGED   71   YEARS,  SOMETIME 

MINISTER  OF  THE   PARISH   OF   SHAWS, 

KOR  THIRTY  YEARS   SCHOOLMASTER   IN   THIS   PARISH, 

ERECTED   BY   HIS  AFFECTIONATE  CHILDREN, 

ANDREW  AND   FLORA  TAIT. 

.*«TO  WHOM   LITTLE   IS   FORGIVEN,   THE   SAME 

LOVETH   LITTLE." 


WHY  DAVID   OLIPHANT  REMAINED 
A   PRESBYTERIAN. 

"  Now,  Mr.  OHphant,  can  you  conceive  any  reason 
except  national  prejudice,  to  which  I  am  sure  you 
are  superior,  why  you  should  not  be  with  us  in  the 
Church?  It  is,  as  you  know,  quite  time  that  you 
made  up  your  mind.  It  is,  indeed,  solely  with  the 
hope  of  assisting  you  to  a  decision  that  I  have 
desired  to  see  you  now." 

An  urbanely  dignified  clergyman  is  speaking  to 
a  young  man  in  an  Oxford  Common  Room. 

"  I  am  very  sensible  of  your  lordship's  conde- 
scension," replied  David  Oliphant,  late  scholar  of 
St.  Magnus,  to  the  Right  Reverend  the  Bishop  of 
Alchester. 

That  learned  and  liberal  prelate  was  to  preach 
before  the  University  on  the  following  day,  and  in 
the  meantime  he  was  endeavouring  to  serve  his 
Church  by  attracting  to  her  bosom,  that  refuge  at 
once  so  inclusive  and  so  exclusive,  another  of  those 
brilliant  young  Northmen  who  have  given  to  St. 
Magnus  its  primacy  among  Oxford  colleges,  and 

106 


DAVID  OLIPHANT.  I07 

from  whose  number  the  Anglican  Church  has 
obtained  many  of  her  finest  scholars  and  her  wisest 
prelates. 

The  Bishop's  main  question  David  Oliphant  did 
not  answer  immediately,  for  many  strange  things 
were  working  within  him.  His  certain  desire  was 
to  do  the  work  of  the  Christ.  So  much  was  clear  to 
him — but  how  and  where  ?  The  answer  was  not 
so  definite.  His  college  friends  were  entering  the 
Church  by  troops.  They  were  as  earnest  and  hope- 
ful as  he — they  looked  forward  to  beginning  their 
work  at  once.  They  seemed  beckoning  him  to 
come  along  with  them  into  their  mother-church,  at 
whose  door  stood  the  amiable  and  comfortable 
Bishop  of  Alchester,  with  hands  outstretched  in 
welcome.  And  then  before  David  Oliphant  there 
rose  up  the  vision  of  his  own  rugged  Cameronian 
kirk — like  Nature,  a  stern  but  not  unkindly  foster- 
mother.  He  thought  of  the  four  slow  years  of 
strictest  theological  training  which  awaited  him  if 
he  returned  to  the  North  — four  years  for  the  scholar 
of  St.  Magnus  equally  with  the  rudest  country  lad 
who  had  stumbled  through  the  requisite  sessions 
in  arts.  Small  wonder  that  he  wavered,  dividing 
the  swift  mind,  or  that  the  Bishop  waited  his 
decision  with  the  smile  of  successful  persuasion  in 
his  shrewd  and  kindly  eyes. 


io8  DAVID  OLIPHANT. 

"We  need  such  men  as  you,  Mr.  OHphant,"  he 
said  ;  "  with  your  parts  and — ah — your  other  ad- 
vantages you  may  go  very  far." 

They  say  that  before  the  mind  of  the  drowning, 
the  past  defiles  in  a  panorama  of  inconceivable 
rapidity.  David  Oliphant  had  almost  made  up  his 
mind  to  follow  what  seemed  his  manifest  destiny, 
when  certain  visions  of  a  time  long  past  rose 
up  before  him,  stood  a  moment  clear,  and  then 
vanished,  even  before  the  grey  eyes  of  his  Grace  of 
Alchester  had  lost  their  expectant  smile.  How 
swiftly  they  came  and  went  it  is  hard  to  give  an 
idea  of.  They  take  so  long  to  tell,  so  unwillingly 
do  words  carry  pictures. 

These  are  the  things  which  came  to  David 
Oliphant,  in  clear  and  solemn  vision,  during  the 
five  minutes  ere  he  answered  the  Bishop  of 
Alchester. 

He  saw  an  old  grey-headed  man,  who  worshipped, 
leaning  upon  the  top  of  his  staff,  in  a  sheltered 
nook  behind  a  low  whitewashed  Galloway  farm- 
house. He  held  his  broad  bonnet  in  his  hands  and 
the  wind  blew  a  stray  lock  over  a  brow  like  a 
weather-beaten  cliff.  His  lips  moved,  but  there 
was  no  sound.  A  little  lad  of  five  came  pattering 
up  the  foot- worn  path  which   led   to  the   private 


DAVID  OLIPHANT.  109 

oratory  of  the  family  high  priest.  He  had  asked 
hurriedly  of  the  general  public  of  the  kitchen, 
"  What  gate  did  G'appa  gae  ?  "  but  without  waiting 
for  the  superfluous  answer  he  trotted  along  that 
well-known  path  that  "  G'appa  "  always  "  gaed." 
The  silent  prayer  ended,  the  pair  took  their  way 
hand  in  hand  to  the  heights  of  the  crags,  where, 
under  its  shallow  covering  of  turf  and  heather,  the 
grey  teeth  of  the  granite  shone.  As  they  sit  they 
speak,  each  to  the  other,  like  men  accustomed  to 
high  and  serious  discourse. 

"  But  why  did  the  martyrs  not  go  to  the  kirk  the 
king  wanted  them  to  ?  "  the  child  asked. 

The  old  man  rose,  strong  now  on  his  feet,  the  fire 
in  his  eye,  his  natural  force  not  abated.  He  pointed 
north  to  where  on  Auchenreoch  Muir  the  slender 
shaft  of  the  martyrs'  monument  gleamed  white 
among  the  darker  heather — south  to  where  on 
Kirkconnel  hillside  Grier  of  Lag  found  six  living 
men  and  left  six  corpses — west  toward  Wigtown 
Bay,  where  the  tide  drowned  two  of  the  bravest  of 
women,  tied  like  dogs  to  a  stake — east  to  the  kirk- 
yards  of  Balweary  and  Nether  Dullarg,  where  under 
the  trees  the  martyrs  of  Scotland  lie  thick  as  gowans 
on  the  lea.      The  fire  of  the  Lord  was  in  his  eye. 

"Dinna  forget,  David  Oliphant,"  he  said,  his 
voice  high  and  solemn,  as  in  a  chant,  "  that  these 


no  DAVID  OLIPHANT. 

all  died  for  Christ's  cause  and  covenant.  They 
were  murdered  because  they  worshipped  God 
according  to  their  conscience.  Remember,  boy, 
till  the  day  of  your  death,  that  among  these  men 
were  your  forbears,  and  forget  not  also  who  they 
were  that  slew  them  ! " 

And  after  twenty  years  the  late  scholar  of  St. 
Magnus  remembered. 

Again  the  young  man  saw  a  wide  black  night 
filled  with  the  echoes  of  thundering  and  the  rushing 
of  rain.  The  same  child  stood  in  the  open  doorway, 
and,  weeping,  called  pitifully  for  "Grandfather." 
There  was  no  answer,  but  the  whole  firmament 
lightened  with  white  flame  from  east  to  west ;  and 
in  that  silent  moment  of  infinite  clearness  he  saw 
his  grandfather's  figure  upright  on  the  knoll  before 
the  house,  the  head  thrown  upwards  towards  that 
intense  whiteness  where  the  heavens  seemed  to 
open  and  the  very  face  of  God  to  look  through. 

•  •  •  •  •  • 

Once  more  he  saw  a  Sabbath  morning,  still  with 
the  primeval  stillness  of  "a  land  where  no  man 
comes  or  hath  come  since  the  making  of  the  world." 
Peace  all  about  the  farm-steading,  silence  on  all 
the  fields,  hardly  a  bleat  from  the  lambs  on  the 
hill  \  within,  a  cool  and  calm  crispness  as  of  home- 


DAVID  O  LIP  HA  NT.  in 

spun  linen  kept  in  lavender.  It  was  the  silence 
which  in  an  old  Cameronian  household  succeeded 
the  "  taking  of  the  Buik  "  on  the  morning  of  the 
day  of  the  Lord. 

Suddenly  at  the  outer  door  the  old  man  appears, 
and  he  calls  upstairs  to  his  couple  of  manly  sons — 
to  him  ever  but  lads  to  do  his  will — "  Boys,  bring 
the  '  Queen's  Airms '  ^  up  to  the  march  dyke  this 
minute  !  "  The  men  come  downstairs,  and,  without 
any  show  of  surprise,  take  down  the  old  muskets 
off  the  wall,  provide  themselves  with  powder  and 
shot,  and  follow  their  father  along  the  wide  stony 
sweep  of  the  hill  road.  The  little  lad  also  follows, 
with  a  sense  that  the  bottom  has  dropped  out  of 
his  universe,  when  guns  could  be  taken  down  on 
Sabbath  morning. 

In  the  brisk  morning  sun  a  scattered  group  of 
men  and  dogs  was  drawing  slowly  through  the 
great  gaps  in  the  pine  woods  towards  the  gate 
which  was  the  entrance  of  the  small  rock-bound 
farm.  At  this  gate  the  old  man  stands,  his 
stalwart  sons  behind  him,  his  broad  blue  bonnet  in 
his  hand.  The  hunters  come  coursing  over  the 
green.  But  ere  any  one  can  open  the  gate  the  old 
man  steps  forward,  his  white  head  bare  to  the  sun. 

•  "  Queen's  Airms,"  i.e.^  muskets  of  the  reign  of  Queen 
Anne. 


H2  DAVID  OLIPHANT. 

David  OHphant  can  see  the  white  hairs  glisten 
even  now. 

"  My  lord,"  he  says,  "  forty  year  I  have  been  on 
your  land  and  your  father's  land.  It  does  not  become 
me  to  tell  you  that  you  are  breaking  the  law  of  God 
by  hunting  the  beasts  of  the  field  on  His  day  ;  but, 
my  lord,  one  thing  you  cannot  do — you  cannot 
break  it  on  this  land  as  long  as  I  am  upon  it." 

The  great  laird  came  forward,  young  and  pas- 
sionate, a  Rehoboam  of  many  foolish  counsellors. 

"  What's  that  he  says,  Daly  ?  That  we  can't  hunt 
on  his  farm  !  I'll  teach  the  canting  old  hypocrite 
that  every  yard  belongs  to  me.  Open  the  gate, 
Daly !  " 

"  My  lord,"  said  the  old  man,  "  I  am  not  careful 
to  answer  you  concerning  this  matter,  but  I  beseech 
you  for  your  father's  memory  not  to  do  this  thing." 

The  young  man  wavered  ;  but  a  murmur  arose 
from  his  companions. 

"  Don't  let  them  spoil  the  sport  with  their  canting 
and  their  blunderbusses.  Stand  out  of  the  way, 
Oliphant !     Down  with  the  gates,  Daly  1  " 

But  Daly  was  not  destined  to  take  the  gates 
down,  for  once  again  the  voice  of  the  Cameronian 
elder  rang  out,  steady  and  respectful  as  ever. 

"  My  lord,  it  is  not  my  will  to  shed  human  blood, 
or  to  resist  you  by  force,  though  I  might  well  do  it, 


DAVID  O LIP H ANT.  113 

but  I  solemnly  warn  you  I  will  shoot  every  dog  of 
yours  that  sets  foot  on  my  land  this  day.  Boys, 
are  you  ready  ?     Stan'  forrit !  '* 

•  •  •  •  • 

The  visions  melted  from  before  David  Oliphant, 
and  he  saw  only  the  patient  Bishop  waiting  his 
answer,  yawning  a  little  because  his  dinner  was 
deferred.  But  there  was  no  uncertainty  in  the 
young  man's  answer. 

"  My  lord,"  said  he,  with  the  steady  voice  and  eye 
that  had  come  to  him  from  his  grandfather,  "  I 
thank  you  heartily  for  your  good  and  kindly  thought 
for  me.  Indeed,  I  am  in  no  way  deserving  of  your 
interest  ;  but,  such  as  I  am,  I  must  cleave  to  my 
own  church  and  my  own  people ! '"' 


8 


THE  THREE  MAISTER  PETER  SLEES, 
MINISTERS  IN  THE  PARISH  OF 
COUTHY. 

REPORTED  VERBATIM  FROM  THE  CONVERSATION 
OF      WILLIAM      M'KIE,      GRAVEDIGGER       AND 

minister's  man. 

It  was  a  still  summer  evening  in  the  slack 
between  hay  and  harvest  on  the  farm  of  Drum- 
quhat.  The  Galloway  moors  rose  in  long  purple 
ridges  to  the  west.  The  sun  had  set,  and  in  the 
hollows  pools  of  mist  were  gathering,  islanded 
with  clumps  of  willow.  The  "  maister"  had  made 
his  nightly  rounds,  and  was  now  meditatively 
taking  his  smoke,  leaning  on  the  gate  at  the 
head  of  the  loaning,  and  looking  over  a  green 
cornfield,  through  the  raw  colour  of  which  the 
first  yellow  was  beginning  to  glimmer.  From 
the  village  half  a  mile  away  he  could  hear  the 
clink  of  the  smith's  anvil.  There  came  into  his 
mind  a  slow  thought  of  the  good  crack  going  on 


THE  THREE  MAISTER  PETER  SLEES.     115 

there,  and  he  erected  himself  as  far  as  a  habitual 
stoop  would  allow  him,  as  if  he  proposed  "  daun- 
erin'  "  over  to  the  village  to  make  one  of  the 
company  in  the  heartsome  "  smiddy." 

For  a   moment  he  stood   undecided,  and    then 
deliberately  resumed  his  former  position  with  his 
elbows  on  the   "yett."     Saunders  MaVVhurr   had 
remembered  his  wife.     To  do  him  justice,  it  was 
seldom   that   he    forgot   her.      But    in  his    single 
perpendicular   moment   Saunders   had    been    able 
to  see  over  the  stone  dyke  which  hid  from  him 
the  broken  and  deceptive  path  which  led  from  the 
farm  along  the  burnside  and  over  the  meadows  to 
the  village  of  Whunnyliggat.     What  he  saw  would 
have  astonished  a  stranger,  but   it  did  not  even 
induce  Saunders  to  take  a  second  look.     A  man 
was   approaching   up   the  loaning,  apparently  on 
all-fours.     The  farmer  knew  instinctively  that  the 
stranger  was  no  stranger  to  him.     He  only  saw 
William    Kie,   grave-digger   and    minister's    man, 
walking  as  he  had   walked  any  time  these  forty 
years.     [William's   name   was   strictly,  no   doubt, 
M'Kie,  but   the    Mac  was   as   hopelessly  lost  as 
the   Books  of  Manetho.]      He   even   remembered 
William   when  he   was  a  dashing   young   hedger 
and   ditcher  with   a    red  plush    waistcoat    for   the 
lasses   to    look  at  on    Sabbaths    as   they  walked 


Ii6     THE  THREE  MAISTER  PETER  SLEES. 

modestly   from   the  churchyard  gate    to  the  door 
of  Couthy  Kirk. 

That  was  before  William  got  his  hurt  by  being 
thrown  off  a  hearse  in  the  famous  south  country 
snowstorm  of  the  1st  of  May.  William  Kie  had 
never  married.  Why,  you  shall  hear  some  day  if  you 
care,  for  once  in  a  mellow  mood  William  told  me 
the  story  in  his  whitewashed  bachelor's  house,  that 
stood  with  its  gable  end  to  the  street,  opposite  the 
Free  Kirk  School.  The  bairns  vexed  his  soul  by 
playing  "Antony  Over"  against  the  end  of  his  house, 
and  running  into  his  garden  for  the  ball  when,  at 
every  third  throw,  it  went  among  the  beadle's  kale. 
Had  they  been  the  pupils  of  the  authorised  paro- 
chial dominie  at  the  other  end  of  the  village, 
William  might  have  borne  it  with  some  degree 
of  equal  mind  ;  but,  as  he  said,  a  beadle  for  forty 
years  in  the  Parish  Kirk  is  bound  to  have  his 
feelings  about  the  Free  Kirk. 

The  farmer  of  Drumquhat  did  not  turn  round 
in  reply  to  the  greeting  of  the  minister's  man.  He, 
too,  had  his  feelings,  for  he  was  a  "  Free  "  and  an 
elder. 

He  said,  "  Thank  ye,  Weelum,  I  canna  compleen. 
Hoo's  yersel'  t " 

"No'  that  weel,  Drumquhat  ;  things  are  awfu' 
drug  [slow].     I  hacna  buried  but  yin  since    Mar- 


THE  THREE  MAISTER  PETER  SLEES.     117 

tinmas — no'  a  sowl  for  fower  months,  and  the  last 
but  a  tramp  body  that  drooned  himsel'  in  the 
Dee — a  three- fit  grave  that  I  made  ower  narrow 
an'  had  to  widen  in  the  sweat  o'  my  broo — never 
a  bawbee  extra  for't  frae  the  parish,  but  a  grummle 
from  that  thrawn  stick  o'  a  registrar  !  "         „.'- 

"  Man  aHve  ! "  said  Saunders  MaWhurr,  indif- 
ferently, his  thoughts  being  arithmetically  with 
his  calves  as  he  watched  Jo,  his  farm  boy,  turn 
them  out  in  to  the  field.  The  gravedigger  knew 
that  the  farmer's  attention  was  perfunctory,  but  he 
was  not  offended,  for  Saunders  kept  three  pair  of 
horse  and  a  gig.  Instinctively,  however,  he  took 
up  a  subject  that  was  bound  to  interest  a  Free 
Kirk  elder. 

He  said,  "  Did  ye  hear  what  we  got  at  the  Hie 
Kirk  yesterday  .?  I  daresay  no'.  Yer  plooman 
was  there,  I  ken,  to  see  Jess  Coupland  ;  but  him — 
he  disna  ken  a  sermon  frae  an  exposcetion,  let 
alane  bringing  awa'  the  fine  points  o'  sic  a  dis- 
coorse  as  we  gat  yesterday." 

"  He  was  oot  a'  nicht,  an'  I  havna  seen  him  since 
he  lowsed,"  said  Saunders,  in  his  non-committal 
manner.  "But  what  did  ye  get  to  mak'  ye  craw 
sae  croose  ?     No'  a  new  sermon,  I'sc  warrant  !  " 

"  Weel,  na,  he  didna  exactly  gang  that  length  ; 
but,  dod,  it  was  better  than  that — it  was  a  new  yin 


ii8     THE  THREE  MAISTER  PETER  SLEES 

d  his  granfaithcr's  !  VVhaur  he  had  fa'en  on  vvi't 
is  mair  than  I  can  say,  but  the  manse  lass  tells  me 
that  he  was  hovvkin'  up  in  the  garret  tvva  after- 
noons last  week,  an'  a  bonny  sicht  he  made  o' 
himsel'  1  " 

In  a  moment  the  farmer  of  Drumquhat  was 
quite  a  different  man  ;  he  even  offered  William 
Kie  a  share  of  the  gate  to  lean  upon  by  silently 
stepping  aside,  which  was  a  great  deal  for  a  man 
in  his  position.  William  acknowledged  his  kind- 
ness by  silently  seating  himself  on  a  broken  gate- 
post lying  at  the  dykeback.  This  was  what  is 
known  in  learned  circles  as  a  compromise. 

The  beadle  took  up  his  parable  :  "  As  sune  as  he 
steppit  oot  o'  the  manse,  I  could  see  that  there 
was  something  onusual  in  the  wund.  First,  I 
thocht  that  it  micht  be  clean  bands  that  the 
mistress  had  gotten  for  him  ;  for  Mistress  Slee 
was  in  gey  guid  fettle  last  week,  an'  I  didna  ken 
what  she  michtna  hae  dune  ;  but  when  I  saw  him 
tak'  oot  o'  his  case  the  same  auld  pair  that  he  has 
worn  since  the  Sacrament  afore  last — ye  can  juist 
tell  them  frae  the  colour  o'  the  goon — I  kenned 
that  it  bood  be  something  else  that  was  makkin' 
him  sae  brisk.  Man,  Saunders,"  said  William, 
forgetting  to  say  "  Drumquhat,"  as  he  had  in- 
tended   which   was   counted    more    polite   from    a 


THE  THREE  MAJSTER  PETER  SLEES.     119 

man  like  him,  "  Man,  Saunders,  I  dinna  ken  whaur 
my  een  could  hae  been,  for  I  even  gat  a  glisk  o' 
the  sermon  as  it  gaed  intil  the  Buik,  yet  never  for 
a  minute  did  I  jaloose  what  was  cominV 

"  Ay,  man,  Weelum,  an'  what  was't  ava  ?  "  said 
Saunders,  now  thoroughly  awake  to  a  congenial 
topic.  He  was  glad  that  he  had  not  gone  down 
to  the  "  smiddy  "  now,  for  Saunders  was  not  in  the 
habit  of  opening  out  there  before  so  many. 

"  Weel,  Saunders,  as  I  am  tellin'  you,  it  was  a 
new  sermon  o'  his  granfaither's,  daecent  man,  him 
that  lies  aneath  the  big  thruch  stane  in  the  wast 
corner  o'  the  kirkyaird.  It's  maistly  covered  wi' 
dockens  an'  soorocks  noo,  for  the  Maister  Slee  that 
we  hae  the  noo  is  mair  fameeliar  wi'  his  forbears' 
han'  o'  write  than  wi'  the  bit  stanies  that  baud 
them  daecently  doon  till  Gawbriel's  trump  bids 
them  rise  !  " 

"  Haun'  o'  write  ! "  quoth  Saunders  ;  "  what  can 
the  craitur  mean  ? " 

"  Saunders  MaWhurr,"  said  the  minister's  man, 
solemnly,  "  thcrty  year  an'  mair  hae  I  carried  the 
Buik,  an'  howkit  the  yaird,  an'  dibbled  the  cabbage 
for  the  Maister  Slees,  faither  an'  son.  Ay,  an'  i 
mind  brawly  o'  the  granfaither — a  graun'  figure  o' 
a  man  him,  sax  fit  twa  in  his  buckled  shoon. 
Saunders,  I'n    no'   an'   upsettin'   man,  an'  quate- 


I20     THE  THREE  MAISTER  PETER  SLEES 

spoken  even  on  Setterday  nicht,  but  ye  wull  aloo 
that  I'm  bun'  to  ken  something  aboot  the  three 
Peter  Slees,  ministers  o'  the  parish  o'  Couthy." 

•*  Gae  on,"  said  Saunders. 

"Weel,  it's  no'  onkenned  to  you  that  the  twa 
first  Maister  Slees  wraite  their  sermons,  for  they 
were  self-respecktin'  men,  an'  nae  ranters  haiverin' 
oot  o'  their  heids  !     Na " 

"  What  aboot  the  granfaither,  Weelum  ?  "  put  in 
Saunders,  quickly,  avoiding,  in  the  interests  of  the 
history,  contentious  matter  upon  which  at  another 
time  he  would  gladly  have  accepted  gage  of  battle. 

"  Weel,  the  granfaither  was,  as  I  hae  said,  a 
graun',  solit  man,  wi'  a  reed  face  on  him  like  the 
mune  in  hairst,  an'  sic  a  bonny  heid  o'  hair  it  was 
hardly  considered  daecent  in  the  parish  o'  Couthy. 
Fowk  used  to  think  he  wore  a  wig  till  they  saw 
him  on  horseback,  for  he  wad  ride  wi'  his  hat  in 
his  haun'  an'  his  hair  blawin'  oot  in  the  wund  like 
Absalom's.  He  was  a  rale  fine  moral  preacher, 
reared  in  the  hinder  end  o'  the  last  century,  but 
neyther  to  baud  nor  to  bind  if  onybody  ca'ed  him 
a  Moderate.  In  deed  an'  truth,  onybody  that  saw 
him  wi'  the  laird  when  the  twasome  had  been 
haein'  denner  thegither  could  see  that  was  a  lee 
an'  a  big  yin  !  " 

"  Juist  that,"  said  the  farmer  of  Drumquhat 


THE  THREE  MAISTER  PETER  SLEES.     121 

"  But  when  he  preached  on  the  Sabbath  he  gied 
the  fowk  no  gospel  to  ca'  gospel,  but  he  did  mak' 
them  scunner  with  the  Law  ;  an'  when  he  preached 
on  Justice,  Temperance,  an'  Judgment  to  come 
there  wasna  a  shut  ee  in  a'  Couthy  Kirk  !  Fine 
I  mind  o'  it,  though  I  was  but  a  callant,  an'  hoo 
I  wussed  that  he  wad  hae  dune  an'  let  me  hame  to 
mak'  pyozves  o'  poother  for  the  fair  on  Monday. 

"  The  faither  o'  oor  present  Maister  Slee  ye'll 
mind  yersel'.  He  was  a  strong  Non-Intrusion 
man  afore  the  '  forty-three,'  as  strong  as  it  was  in 
the  craitur  to  be.  A'  fowk  thocht  that  he  wad  hae 
comed  oot  wi'  the  lave,  an'  sae  I  believe  he  wad 
but  for  the  wife,  wha  lockit  him  in  the  garret  for 
three  days,  an'  gied  him  his  meals  through  the 
sky-licht  ! 

"  His  sermons  were  like  himsel',  like  pease  brose, 
made  o'  half  a  pun  o'  peas  to  the  boilerfu'  o'  water 
— rale  evangelical,  ye  ken,  but  meat  for  babes, 
hardly  for  grown  fowk. 

"  I  needna  tell  ye,  eyther,  aboot  young  Maister 
Slee  ;  weel,  he's  no'  young  noo  ony  mair  than 
oorsel's." 

"  Humph  !  "  said  Saunders. 

"  He  preaches  aboot  the  lilies  o*  the  field,  hoo 
bonny  they  are,  an'  aboot  the  birds  o'  the  air,  an' 
the  mowdies  in  the  yird — the  very  craws  he  canna 


122     THE  THREE  MAISTER  PETER  SLEES. 

let  alane.  He  said  the  ither  Sabbath  day  that 
fowk  that  wraite  guid  resolutions  in  their  note- 
bulks  to  keep  out  the  de'il  war  like  the  farmer 
that  shut  the  yetts  o'  his  cornfields  to  keep  oot 
the  craws  !  " 

"  That's  nane  sae  stupit!  "  said  Saunders. 

"  Na  ;  he's  a  graun'  naiteralist,  the  body,"  said 
the  minister's  man,  "  an'  when  the  big  Enbra' 
societies  come  doon  here  to  glower  an'  wunner  at 
the  bit  whurls  an'  holes  in  the  rocks,  he's  the  verra 
man  to  tak'  them  to  the  bit ;  an'  whan  the  Crech- 
ton  Asylum  fowk  cam'  doon  to  a  picnic,  as  they 
ca'ed  it,  it  was  Maister  Slee  that  gied  them  a 
lectur'  on  the  bonny  heuchs  o'  Couthy.  An'  faith, 
I  couldna  tell  ye  what  yin  o'  the  twa  companies 
was  the  mair  sensible. 

"  Weel,  to  mak'  a  lang  story  short,  if  I  get  a  fair 
guid  look  at  the  paper  when  he  pits  it  intil  the 
Buik,  I  can  tell  by  the  yellaness  o't  whether  it's 
his  ain,  or  his  faither's,  or  his  granfaither's ;  but 
I  maistly  forget  to  look,  for  he  generally  gies  us 
them  day  aboot,  beginnin'  on  the  sacrament  wi' 
his  faither's  famous  discoorse,  '  As  a  nail  in  a  sure 
place,'  that  we  had  every  sax  months,  till  the  Glen- 
cairn  joiner,  a  terrible  outspoken  body,  telt  him 
that  that  nail  wadna  baud  in  that  hole  ony  langer ! 

"  But  when   he  begins  to  preach,  we  sune  ken 


THE  THREE  MAISTER  PETER  SLEES.     123 

wha's  barrel  he  has  been  in,  for  if  we  hear  o'  oor 
duty  to  the  laird,  an'  the  State,  an'  them  in 
authority  ower  us,  we  say,  '  If  the  wast  winda 
was  open,  an'  the  auld  man  wad  cock  his  lug,  he 
wad  hear  something  that  he  wad  ken.'  On  the 
ither  haun',  if  we  hear  aboot  these  present  sad 
troubles,  an  speeritual  independence,  an'  Effectual 
Calling,  we  ken  he's  been  howkin'  in  the  big  beef- 
barrel  whaur  the  Pre-Disruption  sermons  o'  his 
daddy  lie  in  pickle. 

"  Sae  yesterday  he  gied  us  a  terrible  startle  wi* 
a  new  yin'  o'  his  granfaither's  that  nae  man  leevin' 
had  ever  heard." 

"  An'  what  was  his  text  ?  "  said  practical 
Saunders. 

"  'Deed,  an'  I'm  no'  sae  guid  at  mindin'  texts  as 
I  yince  was  ;  but  the  drift  o'  it  was  that  we  war  to 
be  thankfu'  for  the  recent  maist  remarkable  pre- 
servation o'  oor  land  in  the  great  victory  that  the 
Duke  o'  Wellington  an  'oor  noble  airmy  had  won 
ower  the  usurper  Bonyparty  on  the  plains  o' 
Waterloo  ! " 

"  That  maun  hae  been  a  treat ! "  said  Saunders. 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAN  FAIRLE\\ 
OF  EARLS  WOOD. 

This  is  no  carried  tale,  but  just  as  the  minister 
himself  told  it  to  me.  He  was  pleased  like  when 
he  telled  me,  an'  I  am  giving  you  what  is  not  to 
be  told  to  everybody.  Not  that  Allan  Fairley 
need  be  ashamed,  but  proud  the  rather  if  every 
soul  from  here  to  Maidenkirk  had  the  outs  and 
the  ins  of  the  story  at  their  fingers'  end.  But  I'm 
telling  you  tliat  you  may  know  the  right  way  of 
the  story,  for  there's  as  many  ways  of  it  as  bees  in 
a  byke. 

The  way  I  came  to  hear  it  was  this.  Allan 
and  the  wife  were  at  Drumquhat  overnight  on 
their  marriage  jaunt,  him  being  sib  to  my  mistress, 
and  prood  of  the  connection  as  he  has  a  right  to 
be.  My  wife  was  a  wee  feared  about  having  her 
in  the  house,  being  aware  that  she  was  a  Gordon 
of  Earlswood — the  auldest  stock  in  Galloway,  and 
brought  up  to  be  a  lady-body.     But  she  need  have 

»«4 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAN  FAIRLEY.     125 

had  no  fears,  for  ye  never  saw  gentle  or  semple 
mair  free  or  heartsome.  She  ran  to  the  barn  to 
help  to  gather  the  eggs,  and  got  five,  three  being 
nest-eggs  and  a  cheena  one  that  was  put  there  to 
deceive  the  chuckies.  She  kilted  her  coats  and 
helped  to  feed  the  calves.  Then  she  was  for  learn- 
ing to  milk,  but  Black  Bet  laid  back  her  lugs,  and 
in  the  hinderend  kicked  ower  the  luggie ;  and 
there  was  never  such  laughing  in  Drumquhat  since 
it  was  a  farm-town.  She  made  hersel'  as  merry 
and  heartsome  as  though  there  had  never  been  a 
Gordon  in  Earlswood  or  a  Douglas  in  the  Isle. 
And  Allan  watched  her  as  if  he  could  not  let  her 
out  of  his  sight — smiling  like  a  man  that  dreams  a 
pleasant  dream  but  fears  he  will  awaken.  Then 
when  her  dancing  een  came  across  his  steady, 
quiet  look,  she  would  come  behind  him  and  put 
her  hands  over  his  eyes,  asking  what  she  had  done 
that  he  should  look  at  her  like  that. 

"You  haven't  found  out  my  last  murder  yet, 
Allan ! "  she  would  say,  and  Allan  would  shift  in 
his  chair  well  pleased  to  watch  her.  It  was  gurly 
weather  when  they  were  at  Drumquhat — 

"  The  wind  made  wave  the  red  weed  on  the  dyke, 
An'  gurl'  weather  gruit  beastes'  hair," 

quoted   Allan,  who  has  store  of  ballads,  beyond 


126     THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAN  FAIRLEY. 

what  most  ministers  think  it  their  duty  to  carry. 
When  the  wife  was  off  with  the  candles  and  her 
hostess'  mysteries  (mostly  kindly  fuss  and  a  chance 
to  gossip)  to  see  Allan's  young  guidwife  to  her 
chamber,  Allan  and  me  sat  a  gye  while  glowering 
at  the  red  of  the  peat,  till  I  broke  the  silence  that 
had  fallen  between  us — the  silence  of  companion- 
ship, with  the  question  that  rose  quite  natural,  for 
it  was  not  yesterday  or  the  day  before  that  I  first 
kenned  the  lad.  "Ay,  Allan,  lad,  an'  where  did 
ye  fa'  on  wi'  her  ?  "  I  could  see  the  pride,  good 
honest  pride,  rising  in  Allan's  face,  flushing  his 
cheek,  and  setting  his  eye  fairly  in  a  lowe,  as  he 
answered,  "Ay,  Saunders,  didna  I  do  the  best 
day's  work  ever  I  did  when  I  got  her  ? "  This 
was  my  own  thought  for  the  lad,  but  I  only  said, 
"An'  hoo  did  ye  fa'  on  wi'  her  ? " 

"  It's  a  long  story,  Saunders,  but  I'll  tell  you  " — 
here  he  glanced  at  the  clock,  him  that  used  to  sit 
till  the  cocks  were  crawin'  a  merry  midnight — "I'll 
tell  ye  briefly,"  says  he.  "  The  wives  are  not  long 
in  making  us  "  like  the  horse  or  mule, 

Whose  mouth,  lest  they  come  near  to  him, 
A  bridle  must  command.' 

I  quoted  this  once  to  my  wife,  who  replied  : 
"  Humph,   an'   I    never    heard    ye   war    the    waur 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAN  FAIRLEY.    127 

o't — 'horse  or  mule' "  quo  she,  "  fegs,  it's  anither 
quaderaped  I  was  referrin'  to  I  "  But  at  this  point 
I  had  business  in  the  stable. 

"  To  begin  at  the  beginning,"  said  Allan.  "When 
I  was  elected  to  the  parish  of  Earlsvvood  I  was  the 
people's  candidate,  ye  maun  ken.  I  had  four 
hundred  votes  to  thirty-three  ;  but  Walter  Douglas 
Gordon  of  Earlswood,  sole  heritor  of  the  parish, 
was  against  me.  He  proposed  a  far-out  friend  of 
his  own,  never  dreaming  but  he  would  be  elected 
without  a  word,  and  ye  may  guess  what  a  back-set 
he  got  when  only  his  foresters  and  them  that  was 
most  behadden  to  him  voted  for  his  man." 

"  He  wad  neyther  be  to  haud  nor  bin',"  said  I. 

"  Na,"  said  Allan,  "  and  in  open  kirk  meeting  he 
cuist  up  to  them  that  was  proposin'  me  that  my 
faither  was  but  a  plooman,  and  my  mither  knitted 
his  hose.  But  he  forgot  that  the  days  of  patronage 
were  by,  for  the  Cross  Roads  joiner  rises,  and  says 
he  :  '  I  ken  Allan  Fairley,  and  I  ken  his  faither  an' 
mither,  an'  they  hae  colleged  their  son  as  honestly 
on  plooin'  an'  stockin'-knittin'  as  your  son  on  a'  the 
rents  o'  Earlswood  ! ' 

"  *  He'll  never  be  minister  o'  the  parish  of  Earls- 
wood wi'  my  guidwull  ! '  says  he. 

"  '  He'll  e'en  be  minister  o'  Earlswood  withoot 
it,   then,'   said    the  joiner — an    honest    man,    not 


128     THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAN  FAIRLEY. 

troubled  with  respect   of  persons.      '  There's  nae 
richt  o'  pit  an'  gallows  noo,  laird  ! '  says  he. 

"  '  An'  it's  as  well  for  you  and  your  like  !  *  said 
the  Laird  of  Earlswood,  as  he  strode  out  of  the 
kirk,  grim  as  Archie  Bell-the-Cat. 

"  Weel,  Saunders,  I  considered  that  four  hundred 
was  a  good  enough  off-set  against  thirty-five  of 
Earlswood's  foresters  and  cot-men,  so  I  was  settled 
in  ihe  parish,  and  took  my  mither  from  her  knitting 
to  keep  the  manse." 

"  Honour  thy  father  and  thy  mother  I  "  said  I : 
"you  did  well,  Allan." 

"  The  folk  at  the  big  house  left  the  kirk  and 
drove  over  to  the  Episcopalians  at  Ford,  but  I  went 
to  call,  as  it  was  my  duty  to  do.  And  I  met  a 
young  lady  in  the  grounds  and  asked  her  the 
way." 

"  I  ken  they  are  extensive,"  says  I  ;  "it  was  as 
weel  to  mak'  sure  of  your  road  ! " 

"Yes,"  said  Allan,  ignoring  a  slight  significance 
of  tone,  "  I  asked  the  way,  and  the  young  lady 
kindly  walked  with  me  to  the  door.  This  was  the 
message  that  the  footman  brought  back,  the  young 
lady  standing  by  :  'Mr.  Gordon  declines  to  see  you, 
and  if  you  come  on  the  policies  again  he  will  have 
you  prosecuted  for  trespass.'" 

"  Of  course  he  couldna  uphaud  that,"  I  put  in. 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAN  FAIRLEY.    129 

"Very  likely  no',"  said  Allan,  "  but  it  was  sore 
to  bide  from  a  poo'dered  fitman  on  Earlswood 
doorstep  under  the  blue  een  o'  Grace  Gordon  ! " 

"  An'  what  did  she  say  ? "  I  asked,  curious  for 
once. 

"  Say  !  "  said  Allan,  proudly  ;  "  this  is  what  she 
did:  'Permit  me  to  offer  you  an  apology,  Mr. 
Fairley,'  she  said,  '  and  to  show  you  the  private 
path  through  the  fir  plantation  which  you  may  not 
know.'  Oh,  I  know  it  was  maybe  no'  ladylike, 
Saunders " 

"  But  it  was  awfu'  womanASko, !  "  said  I. 

"  I'll  no'  say  anything  about  the  walk  through 
the  plantation,"  said  Allan  Fairley,  who  no  doubt 
had  his  own  sacred  spots  like  other  folk,  "  but  I 
have  no  need  to  deny  that  a  new  thing  came  into 
my  life  that  day  when  the  rain-drops  sparkled  on 
the  fir  needles.  I  mind  the  damp  smell  o'  them  to 
this  day."     (And  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  boy 

would  to  his  dying   day.     I  mind   mysel' but 

there  is  no  need  going  into  that.) 

"  The  time  gaed  on  as  it  has  the  gait  of  doing," 
Allan  continued,  "  and  things  settled  a  wee,  and  I 
thocht  that  they  would  maybe  all  come  round — 
except  Earlswood,  of  course.  Ye  maun  ken  that 
there's  a  big  colony  o'  dreadfu'  respectable  gentry 
in  oor  pairish— retired  tradesfolk  frae  Glasgow  and 


I30     THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAN  FAIRLEY. 

Edinburgh,  with  a  pickle  siller  and  a  back-load  o* 
pride." 

"  I  ken  the  clan  !  "  says  I. 

"Weel,  Saunders,  ye'll  hardly  believe  what  I'm 
gaun  to  tell  you,  but  it's  no  made  story  I'm  telling 
you.  There  was  two  o'  them  cam'  to  the  manse 
yae  nicht,"  said  Allen,  lapsing  into  his  Doric,  "  and 
the  lass  showed  them  intil  the  study.  It  was  gye 
an'  dark,  but  they  wadna  hear  o'  lichtin'  the  lamp, 
an'  I  didna  wunner  or  a'  was  dune.  They  didna 
seem  to  have  come  aboot  onything  in  partiklar,  but 
they  couldna  get  awa',  so  they  sat  and  sat  an*  just 
mishandled  the  rims  o'  their  hats.  They  lookit  at 
yin  anither  an'  oot  at  the  wunda  an'  up  at  the  ceilin', 
but  they  never  lookit  at  me.  At  last  yin  o'  them, 
a  writer  body,  said  in  a  kin'  o'  desperation,  '  Mr. 
Fairley,  we  have  been  deputed  to  tell  you  what  the 
better  classes  of  the  parish  think  would  be  the  best 
for  you  to  do ' 

" '  I  am  muckle  obliged  for  the  interest  of  the 
better  classes  of  the  parish  in  my  affairs,'  says  I  ; 
but  he  gaed  on  like  a  bairn  that  has  his  lesson 
perfect. 

"*  They  think  that  it  is  a  very  noble  thing  of  you 
to  provide  for  your  mother — filial  piety  and  so  on  ' 
— here  he  was  at  a  loss,  so  he  waved  his  hands — 
— '  but  you   must   be   aware  that — that    I    have  a 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAN  FAIRLEY.     131 

difficulty  in  expressing  my  meaning  — that  the 
ladies  of  the  congregation,  however  willing,  are  as 
unable  to  call  upon  Mistress  Fairley,  as  it  would  no 
doubt  be  embarrassing  for  her  to  receive  them 
Would  it  not  be  better  that  some  other  arrange- 
ment— some  smaller  cottage  could  surely  be 
taken ' 

"  He  got  no  further  ;  he  wadna  hae  gotten  as  far 
if  for  a  moment  I  had  jaloosed  his  drift.  I  got  on 
my  feet.  I  could  hardly  keep  my  hands  off  them, 
minister  as  I  was  ;  but  I  said  :  *  Gentlemen,  you 
are  aware  of  what  you  ask  me  to  do.  You  ask  me 
to  turn  out  of  my  house  the  mither  that  bore  me,  the 
mither  that  learned  me  "  The  Lords  my  Shepherd" 
the  mither  that  wore  her  fingers  near  the  bane  that 
I  might  gang  to  the  college,  that  selled  her  bit 
plenishin'  that  my  manse  micht  be  furnished  !  Ye 
ask  me  to  show  her  to  the  door — I'll  show  YOU 
TO  THE  DOOR  ! ' — an'  to  the  door  they  gaed  !  " 

"  Weel  dune  !     That  was  my  ain  Allan!"  cried  I. 

"  The  story  was  ower  a'  the  parish  the  next  day, 
as  ye  may  guess,  an'  wha  but  Miss  Gordon  o' 
Earlswood  ca'ed  on  my  mither  the  day  efter  that — 
an'  kissed  her  on  the  doorstep  as  she  gaed  away. 
The  lawyer's  wife  saw  her. 

"There  was  a  great  gathering  o'  the  clans  at 
Earlswood  when  it  a'  cam'  cot,  but  Grace  had  the 


132     THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAN  FAIRLEY, 

blood  of  Archibald  the  Grim  as  weel  as  her  faither  , 
an'  she  stood  by  the  black  armour  of  the  Earlswood 
who  died  at  Flodden  by  the  king,  and  said  she 
afore  them  a' :  '  I  have  heard  what  you  say  of  Mr. 
Fairley,  now  you  shall  all  hear  what  I  say.  I  say 
that  I  love  Allan  Fairley  with  all  my  heart,  and  if 
one  of  you  says  another  word  against  him,  I  shall 
walk  down  to  Earlswood  manse  and  ask  Allan 
Fairley  if  he  will  marry  Grace  Gordon  as  she 
stands!" 

•  •  •  •  t  • 

"  Saunders,"  said  my  wife,  entering  as  if  she  had 
not  been  having  an  hour  long  woman's  gossip  with 
Grace  Fairley,  "  Saunders,  tliere'll  be  nae  word  o' 
this  when  the  clock  strikes  five  the  morrow's  morn. 
I  wunner  at  you,  Allan  Fairley,  a  mairriet  man, 
keepin'  him  oot  o'  his  bed  till  this  time  o'  nicht  wi' 
yer  clavers ! " 

The  meeting  here  broke  up  in  confusion. 


THE  REV.  JOHN  SMITH,  OF  ARK  LAND 
PREPARES  HIS   SERMON, 

It  is  Friday,  and  the  minister  of  Arkland  was 
writing  his  sermon.  Things  had  not  gone  well  in 
Arkland  that  week.  The  meeting  of  the  church 
court  charged  with  the  temporalities  had  not 
passed  off  well  on  Tuesday.  One  man  especially 
had  hurt  the  minister  in  a  sensitive  place.  This 
was  Peter  M'Robert,  the  shoemaker.  The  minister 
had  represented  that  a  bath  in  a  manse  was  not  a 
luxury  but  a  necessity,  when  Peter  M'Robert  said 
that  as  for  him  he  had  never  "  had  sic  a  thing  in 
his  life,  an'  as  for  the  minister  that  auld  Maister 
Drouthy  had  dune  withoot  yin  in  the  manse  for 
thirty-three  year  to  the  satisfaction  o'  the  pairish." 
Then  there  had  been  certain  differences  of 
opinion  within  the  manse  itself,  and  altogether 
the  sermon  had  been  begun  with  the  intention  of 
dressing  down  the  offending  parishioners.  Nearly 
all  sermons  are  personal  to  the  preacher.     They 

133 


134  JOHN  SMITH,  OF  ARKLAND. 

have  been  awakened  within  him  by  some  circum- 
stance which  has  come  to  his  knowledge  during 
the  week.  Preachers  use  this  fact  for  good  or  evil 
according  to  their  kind. 

A  plain  man  was  John  Smith  of  Arkland — 
as  plain  and  hodden  grey  as  his  name.  He 
had  succeeded  to  the  church  with  the  largest 
majority  that  had  been  known  in  the  presbytery, 
for  in  that  neighbourhood  to  have  given  a  man  a 
unanimous  call  would  have  been  considered  a  dis- 
grace and  a  reflection  on  the  critical  discrimination 
of  the  congregation.  He  had  tried  to  do  his  duty 
without  fear  or  favour,  only  asking  that  his  hands 
should  not  be  tied.  He  visited  the  sick  with  a 
plain  quiet  helpfulness  which  brought  sympathy 
with  it  as  surely  as  the  minister  entered  the  house. 
His  sermons  were  not  brilliant,  but  they  were 
staves  and  crutches  to  many. 

Now  as  he  sat  at  his  manse  window  that  bitter 
November  morning  he  watched  the  rain  volleying 
on  the  round  causeway  stones  and  the  wide  spaces 
of  the  village  street  dimly  white  with  the  dancing 
spray.  The  minister  felt  grimly  in  unison  with  the 
elements  as  he  sat  framing  his  opening  sentences. 
He  had  chosen  his  text  from  a  wonderful  chapter. 
"  Wisdom  is  justified  of  her  children."  And  in 
this  wise  he  began  to  write  :  "  To  be  ignorant  is  to 


JOHN  SMITH,  OF  ARKLAND.  135 

be  dangerous.  The  ignorant  man,  though  he  be  but 
one,  can  make  of  no  account  the  wisdom  of  many 
men.  After  the  wise  of  many  generations  have 
been  striving  to  teach  a  people  wisdom,  a  knave  or 
a  fool  may  come  and  cry  aloud,  '  There  is  no  god 
but  ourselves,  there  is  no  law  but  our  own  desires, 
there  is  no  hereafter  but  the  grave  which  we  share 
with  our  sister  the  worm  and  our  brother  the  dead 
dog  !  '  Yet  so  great  is  the  folly  of  man  that  such 
an  one  may  draw  away  much  people  after  him  into 
the  wilderness  of  sin  and  self-indulgence.  It  is  in 
accordance  with  the  nature  of  man  that  ignorance 
and  narrowness  should  often  succeed  where  wisdom 
is  wholly  rejected." 

"  That  will  do,"  said  the  minister,  lookine  over 
his  work.  He  had  Peter  M'Robert  in  his  mind, 
and  he  rose  and  walked  his  study,  *'  mandating " 
his  opening  sentences  with  appropriate  gestures, 
much  to  the  astonishment  of  Marget  Lowrie  in  the 
kitchen,  who  said,  "  Save  us !  What's  wrang  wi'  the 
minister  ?     This  is  no'  Setturday !  " 

As  he  came  in  his  sentry  walks  to  the  window 
which  looked  up  the  rain-swept  street,  he  saw  a 
dark-coloured  oblong  patch  with  a  strange  pro- 
tuberance on  the  right  side,  hirpling  like  a  decrepit 
beetle  athwart  the  road,  till,  being  caught  at  the 
manse  corner  by  a  bitter  swirl,  this  irregular  shape — 


136  JOHN  SMITH,  OF  ARKLAND. 

"  If  shape  it  could  be  called,  that  shape  had  none," 
stumbled  and  fell  within  thirty  yards  of  the  study 
window,  discharging  on  the  muddy  road  an  ava- 
lanche of  shavings,  small  branches,  knobs,  angles, 
and  squares  of  wood.  In  a  moment  the  minister 
was  out  at  the  door  and  was  helping  old  Nance 
Kissock  to  her  feet,  and  then  under  the  eyes  of 
all  the  wives  in  the  village  assisting  her  to  collect 
again  her  bagful  of  chips  and  kindlings  which  the 
good-natured  joiner  allowed  her  to  take  once  a 
week  from  his  floor. 

"  I  hope  you  are  none  the  worse,  Nance  ?  "  said 
the  minister. 

"  I  thank  ye,  Maister  Smith ;  I'm  sair  for- 
foughten  wi'  the  wun',  but  gin  the  Almichty  be 
willing  I'll  be  at  the  kirk  on  Sabbath  to  hear  ye. 
It's  guid  to  think  on  a'  the  week  what  ye  tell  us. 
Whiles  it  gars  me  forget  the  verra  rheumatics  ! " 

When  the  minister  got  back  into  the  friendly 
shelter  of  his  study  he  took  up  the  sheet  which  he 
had  laid  down  in  order  to  rush  out  to  Nance  Kis- 
sock's  assistance.  He  read  it  over,  but  when  he 
took  his  pen  again,  he  did  not  seem  to  like  it  so 
well.  If  Nance  were  speaking  the  truth,  and  she 
fed  during  the  week  on  the  spiritual  food  which 
she  received  in  his  kirk  on  the  Sabbath,  he  could 
not  conceal  from  himself  that  next  week  she  had  a 


JOHN  SMITH,  OF  ARK  LAND.  137 

good  chance  of  going  hungry.  Yet  he  could  not 
allow  Peter  M'Robert  to  get  off  without  a  word,  so 
he  put  the  thought  away  from  him  and  went  on 
with  his  task.  "  How  often  docs  a  man  of  limited 
view  mistake  his  own  limitations  for  the  possi- 
bilities of  others.  He  never  judges  himself- — he 
could  not  if  he  would — and  naturally  when  he 
judges  others  it  is  only  to  condemn  them. '  A  gust 
more  than  ordinarily  powerful  took  the  minister 
again  to  the  window,  and  he  saw  John  Scott,  the 
herd  from  the  Dornel,  wringing  the  wet  from  his 
plaid.  He  knew  that  he  had  come  down  to  the 
village  from  the  hills  three  miles  out  of  his  road  to 
get  his  wife's  medicine.  Presently  he  would  trudge 
away  manfully  back  again  to  the  cot-house  on  the 
edcfe  of  the  heather.  Now  the  minister  knew  that 
come  storm  or  calm  John  Scott  would  be  at  the 
kirk  on  the  next  day  but  one,  and  that  he  would 
carry  away  in  the  cool  quiet  brain  that  lay  behind 
the  broad  brow  the  heads  and  particulars  of  the 
sermon  he  heard.  As  he  went  steadily  knitting 
his  stocking,  conquering  the  heather  with  strides 
long  and  high,  visiting  his  black-faced  flock,  he 
would  go  revolving  the  message  that  his  minister 
had  given  him  in  the  house  of  God. 

"Wisdom  is  justified  of  her  children,"  repeated 
the  minister,  doggedly ;  but  his  text  now  awakened 


138  JOHN  SMITH,  OF  ARKLAND. 

no  fervour.  There  was  no  enthusiasm  in  it.  He 
thought  that  he  would  go  out  and  let  the  Novem- 
ber winds  drive  the  rain  into  his  face  for  a  tonic. 
So  he  slipped  on  his  Inverness  and  let  himself  out. 
His  feet  carried  him  towards  the  garret  of  one  of 
his  best  friends,  where  an  aged  woman,  blind  and 
infirm,  was  spending  the  latter  end  of  her  days. 
She  could  not  now  come  to  church,  therefore  the 
minister  went  often  to  her — for  it  was  sunshine 
to  him  also  to  bring  light  into  that  very  dark 
place  where  the  aged  servant  of  God  waited  her 
end. 

Mary  Garment  knew  his  step  far  down  the  stair, 
and  she  said  to  herself:  "  It  is  himsel' !  "  and  deep 
within  her  she  gave  thanks.  "  It  is  a  great  thing 
to  hae  the  bread  o'  life  broken  to  us  so  simply  that 
we  a'  understan'  it,  Maister  Smith,"  she  said. 

"  But,  Mary,  how  long  is  it  since  you  heard  a 
sermon  of  mine  ?  " 

"  It's  true  it's  a  lang  time  since  I  heard  ye  preach, 
minister,  but  I  hear  o'  yer  sermons  every  Sabbath. 
Yin  and  anither  tells  me  pairt  o't  till  I  get  as 
muckle  as  I  can  think  on." 

As  the  minister  said  good-bye  to  Mary  Garment, 
she  said  :  "  Ye'll  hae  ower  muckle  to  think  on  to 
mind  me  on  the  Lord's  day  when  ye're  speakin'  for 
ver  Maister ;  but  I  hae  nane  but  you  to  mind,  sir, 


JOHN  SMITH,  OF  ARKLAND.  139 

SO  I'll  be  prayin'  for  you  a'  the  time  that  ye're  up- 
haudin'  His  name." 

"Thank  you,  Mary,  I'll  not  forget!"  said  her 
minister. 

And  he  went  out  much  strengthened. 

As  he  went  mansewards  he  passed  the  little 
cobbler's  den  where  Peter  M'Robert  was  tap- 
tapping  all  the  day,  and  the  sound  of  Peter's 
terrible  cough  called  to  him  with  a  voice  that 
claimed  him.  He  stepped  in,  and  after  the  word 
of  salutation,  he  asked  his  office-bearer : 

"  Are  you  not  thinking  of  getting  that  cough 
attended  to,  Peter  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Wha — me  ?  Na,  no'  me  ;  hoots,  it's  but  a  bit 
host,  nocht  to  speak  aboot,  thank  ye  for  speerin', 
Maister  Smith." 

Just  then  the  minister  saw  the  doctor  walking 
rapidly  up  the  far  side  of  the  street,  calm-faced  and 
dignified,  as  if  this  howling  November  north-easter 
were  a  beautiful  June  morning.  Him  he  sum- 
moned. 

"  Here's  Peter'll  no'  speak  to  you  about  his 
cough.    He  must  have  some  of  your  drugs,  doctor." 

The  doctor  called  the  unwilling  cobbler  from  his 
last,  and  after  a  brief  examination  he  said  : 

"No,  I  don't  think  there  will  be  any  need  for 
drugs,  Mr.  Smith ;  if  you,  Peter,  will  use  a  gargle 


i40  JOHN  SMITH,  OF  ARK  LAND. 

to  get  rid  of  a  trifling  local  inflammation.  Less 
lapstone  dust  and  less  snuff,  Peter,  and  warm 
water  three  times  a  day,"  said  the  doctor,  succinctly, 
and  proceeded  on  his  rounds. 

As  the  minister  went  out,  Peter  looked  up  with 
a  queer  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"  Maister  Smith,"  he  said,  "  gin  water  be  sae 
needful  for  the  inside  o'  a  cobbler's  thrapple, 
maybe  I  was  wrang  in  thinkin'  that  it  wasna  as 
necessary  for  the  ootside  o'  a  minister  ! " 

"  Then  we'll  say  no  more  about  it,  Peter,"  said 
the  minister,  smiling,  as  he  closed  the  door. 
"Mind  your  gargle  !  " 

When  the  minister  got  to  his  study,  he  never 
stopped  even  to  wipe  his  feet,  and  when  the 
mistress  followed  to  remonstrate,  she  found  him 
putting  his  sermon  in  the  fire. 

•  t  •  •  4  • 

The  minister's  text  on  the  following  Sabbath 
morning  was  an  old  one,  but  it  was  no  old  sermon 
that  the  Arkland  folk  got  that  day.  The  text  was, 
"  Come  unto  me  all  ye  that  labour  and  are  heavy 
laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest." 

Nance  Kissock  was  there,  and  did  not  go  home 
hungry ;  John  Scott  had  come  down  from  the 
muirs,  and  had  something  better  than  physic  to 
take  back  to  his  ailing  wife ;  Peter  M'Robert  sat 


JOHN  SMITH,  OF  ARKLAND.  141 

in  his  corner  looking  cleaner  than  he  had  done 
within  the  memory  of  man — also  he  never  coughed 
once  ;  no  less  than  eight  different  folk  came  in  to 
tell  blind  Mary  Garment  about  the  sermon. 

But  none  but  the  minister  knew  who  it  was  that 
had  been  praying  for  him. 


A  DAY  IN  THE  LIFE   OF  REV.  JAMES 

PITBYE,  MINISTER  OF  NETHER 

DULLARG, 

There  is  no  doubt  that  we  in  this  part  of  the 
world  have  the  wale  of  ministers.  And  this  is 
what  nobody  but  John  Tamson  of  the  Risk  thinks 
of  denying ;  but  then  John  was  never  a  weel- 
spoken  body,  and  indeed  had  some  bit  thought  of 
trouble  with  the  session  in  his  young  days  long 
before  he  was  an  elder  himsel'.  So  nobody  heeds 
much  what  he  says. 

John  was  over  at  Drumquhat  the  other  night, 
and  after  him  and  me  had  settled  our  matters,  he 
was  telling  me  about  the  minister  that  they  had 
got  now  in  the  parish  of  Nether  Dullarg. 

"  Ay,"  says  he,  "  he's  a  rale  quaite  chiel,  oor 
minister — faut  ?  Na,  I  hae  no  faut  to  find  wi' 
him.     Na,  he's  rale  ceevil," 

"  I'm  glad  ye  like  your  minister,  for  there's  no 

that  mony  pleases  you,  John  ! "  said  I,  to  give  him 

143 


THE  MINISTER  OF  NETHER  DULLARG.     143 

an  opening,  for  I  had  heard  that  he  was  waur 
ta'en  with  this  minister  than  with  all  the  rest. 

"  You'll  see  a  heap  of  him,  having  him,  so  to 
speak,  just  over  the  dyke  ? "  said  my  mis- 
tress. 

"  Ow,  ay,  he's  no'  that  ill  to  see,"  he  said,  very 
slow-like,  for  I  could  see  that  he  was  fair  girnin' 
with  what  the  clerk  of  our  School  Board  calls  "  an 
ironical  mainner  o'  speech."  This  is  a  thing  no 
much  affected  in  our  countryside,  except  by  John 
Tamson  himsel'  and  a  road-man  they  call  "  Snash" 
Magill.  Snash,  when  the  School  Board  had  him  up 
before  them  for  not  sending  his  bairns  to  the  new 
school  at  Dyke  End,  had  the  assurance  to  ask  the 
chairman  if  Jiis  father  would  ever  have  been  out  of 
gaol  if  there  had  been  a  School  Board  in  his  young 
days.  But  the  Board  was  very  sore  on  him  for  this, 
because  they  mostly  all  were  much  obligated  to  the 
chairman  or  were  nearly  related  to  them  that  were. 

John  Tamson  is  no  a  man  that  I  would  be  fond 
of  having  for  next  neighbour  myself,  but  he's  very 
entertaining  when  he  comes  over  for  a  forenicht. 
He  likes  to  sit  in  the  kitchen,  so  when  he  is  at 
Drumquhat  the  men  are  very  exact  about "  lowsin'- 
time,"  and  I  take  a  bit  turn  round  the  yard  myself, 
just  to  see  that  they  don't  skimp  the  stabling  of 
the  horses  in  their  hurry  to  get  in  to  their  supper, 


144     THE  MINISTER  OF  NETHER  DULLARG. 

being  well  aware  that  John  will  be  in   full  blast, 
and  anxious  to  miss  as  little  as  possible. 

"  We  fand  faut  wi'  oor  last  twa  ministers  for  no 
stoppin'  lang  wi'  us,"  said  John,  when  we  were  all 
quiet,  for  John  cannot  do  with  folk  "  hotchin'  an' 
fidgin'."  If  he  had  been  a  minister,  as  at  one  time 
he  thought  of  being  before  his  trouble,  he  would 
have  taken  a  drink  and  unfolded  his  white  napkin 
when  the  late  folk  are  coming  up  the  aisle,  as  our 
Mr.  Fairley  does  whiles  to  encourage  them  to  be  in 
time  next  Sabbath.  "  Ay,  fowk  were  no  pleased 
wi'  them  for  shiftin'  so  quick,  but  that's  no  a  faut 
that  they'll  hae  to  fin'  wi'  Maister  Pitbye,  or  I'm 
sair  mista'en,  for  I'm  thinkin'  that  the  Dullarg 
folk'll  get  him  to  bury  !  " 

Here  my  wife  put  in  her  word  as  she  stood  at 
the  bake-board — the  wife  whiles  allows  that  she  is 
scandalised  with  John's  wild  talk,  but  she  finds  a 
great  deal  of  work  in  the  kitchen  when  he  is  here 
for  all  that.  She  "  likes  to  hear  the  body's  din," 
as  she  once  said  when  I  tried  her  with  a  chapter  or 
two  of  Tammas  Carlyle  when  I  was  reading  in  the 
winter  forenichts  about  the  Heroes.  "  It's  better 
than  sittin'  clockin'  an'  readin' — a  body  micht  as 
weel  no  hae  a  man  ava — though  I  cannot  mak' 
oot  what  the  craitur  wad  be  at,  I  like  to  hear  the 
body's   din  ! "     My   wife's   a   good    wife,   but   her 


THE  MINISTER  OF  NETHER  DULLARG.     145 

tongue  wad  clip  cloots,  or  as  the  clerk  o'  the 
School  Board  would  say,  she  has  "  a  facility  in 
expressing  her  meaning." 

"  I  hear  that  he's  a  very  quaite  man,"  said 
Mistress  M'Quhirr,  "  but  somebody  was  tellin'  me 
that  he  was  no  considered  a  great  veesitor." 

"  Veesitor,  quo'  she  1  "  says  John,  with  his  birses 
up  in  a  moment,  "  hoo  div  ye  think  that  the  man 
has  time  to  veesit,  considerin'  the  wark  that  he  pits 
through  han'  in  a  day!  I  wonder  to  hear  ye, 
Mistress  MaWhurr ! " 

The  herd-boy  got  up  off  the  settle,  for  it  was 
interesting  to  hear  John  Tamson  up-haudin'  the 
ministers — him  bein'  weel  kenned  for  an  Auld 
Kirk  elder  and  nae  great  professor. 

"  If  I  dinna  ken  what  that  man  does  in  the  day, 
there's  naebody  kens,"  said  John,  raxing  for  a  peat 
to  light  his  pipe.  "  Noo,  I'll  juist  gie  ye  an  idea^ 
last  Friday  I  was  aboot  the  hoose  a'  day,  aff  an'  on, 
wi'  a  meer  that  was  near  the  foalin'. 

"  At  nine  by  the  clock  his  bedroom  blind  gaed  up, 
an*  he  cam'  doon  the  stair  maybe  a  quarter  o'  an  'oor 
after  or  thereby.  The  mistress  had  been  up  an' 
aboot  frae  seven,  an'  had  the  bairns  a'  washt  an' 
dresst,  an'  oot  at  the  back  so  as  no  to  wakken  their 
faither,  or  disturb  him  in  his  thinkin'.  Weel,  doon 
he  comes  ^an'  gets  his  breakfast,  ^or  I  saw  Betty 


146     THE  MINISTER  OF  NETHER  DULLARG. 

takkin'  in  the  cream  frae  the  larder  at  the  end  o* 
the  hoose.  She  skimmed  it  aff  the  bairns'  milk 
for  their  parritch,  an'  set  it  there  for  the  minister 
himsel',  it  being  weel  kenned  through  a'  Gallawa' 
that  cream  is  needed  for  the  brain  wark.  Then 
there's  a  bell  rings  for  prayers,  an'  Betty  synes 
hersel'  an'  gangs  ben,  an'  their  mither  shoos  the 
bairns  out  o'  the  sand-hole,  an'  gies  them  a  dicht 
to  mak'  them  faceable  to  gang  in.  Then  in  ten 
minutes  they're  a'  oot  again,  an'  here  comes  himsel' 
for  a  rest  an'  a  smoke,  and  to  look  oot  for  the 
post.  Maybes  in  half  an  'oor  the  post  comes  in 
sicht,  wi'  his  troosers  buckled  up,  for  he's  an 
onmarried  man  an'  thinks  a  dale  o'  his  reed 
braid.  The  minister  has  never  moved,  smokin' 
an'  thin  kin',  nae  doot,  o'  the  Sabbath's  sermon. 
The  post  gies  him  twa-three  papers  an'  letters, 
an'  then  yesterday's  Scotsman  that  he  tak's  alang 
vvi'  Maister  MacPhun  doon  at  the  Cross  Roads. 
The  post's  auntie  cleans  Maister  MacPhun's  kirk, 
so  the  post  tak's  the  paper  up  to  the  Dullarg  for 
naething.  'They're  juist  from  the  Church  Offices, 
take  them  on  to  the  Manse,  an'  gie  me  the  paper,' 
he  says.  Syne  he  sits  doon,  decent  man,  as  he 
had  a  good  richt  to  do,  on  the  green  seat  at  the 
end  o'  the  hoose,  an'  wi'  great  an  surprisin'  dili- 
gence he  reads  the  Scotsman  till  maybe  half-past 


THE  MINISTER  OF  NETHER  DULLARG.     147 

twal.  But  he  has  had  cracks  forbye  in  the  bye- 
gaun,  wi'  a  farmer  that  had  been  at  the  smiddy, 
wi'  John  Grier  the  tea-man,  wha  is  an  elder  o'  his 
an'  never  centres  him  in  the  session,  an'  forbye  has 
sent  twa  tramps  doon  the  road  wi'  a'  flee  i'  their 
lug,  I'm  thinkin'.  Then  he  lays  the  paper  doon 
on's  knees  an'  ye  wad  think  that  his  studies  war' 
makkin'  him  sleepy ;  but  httle  do  ye  ken  him  if 
ye  think  sae — for  roon  the  hoose  efter  a  yella 
butterflee  comes  his  boy  Jeems,  wha  disna  promise 
to  be  the  quaite  ceevil  man  his  father  is.  He 
stops  the  callant  aboot  the  quickest,  an'  sen's  him 
in  to  his  mither  to  bring  oot  word  when  the  denner 
will  be  ready.  Maister  Pitbye  says  nocht  when 
the  answer  comes,  but  he  tak's  up  Thursday's 
paper  again,  an'  has  a  look  at  the  adverteesements 
an'  the  births,  daiths,  an'  mairraiges.  Then  he 
cleans  his  pipe,  for  he's  a  carefu'  man,  an'  in  some 
things  baith  eident  [diligent]  and  forehanded. 

"  Then  efter  denner  is  by  he  has  another  smoke, 
as  every  man  should  that  has  a  respec  for  his 
inside.  Then  he  fills  again  an'  gangs  inbye  to  his 
study,  where  the  blind  is  drawn  doon,  for  ower 
muckle  licht  is  no  guid  for  the  sermon-makkin'. 
For  twa  'oor  he  works  hard  there,  an'  disna  like  to 
be  disturbit  nayther,  for  yince  afore  we  fell  oot, 
when  I  gaed  to  see  him  about  some  sma'  maitter, 


148     THE  MINISTER  OF  NETHER  DULLARG. 

the  lass  pit  me  in  raither  sharp,  an'  the  sofa  gied 
an  awfu'  girg,  an'  there  sat  the  minister  on's  ain 
study  chair,  bUnkin'  an'  no  vveel  pleased,  like  a 
hoolet,  at  bein'  disturbit  at  the  studyin'. 

"  There's  nae  mainner  o'  doot  that  it's  then  that 
the  sermons  are  made,  for  a'  the  rest  o's  time  I  can 
accoont  for.  Then  when  tea  is  bye,  oot  comes  the 
minister  wi'  his  pipe,  an'  set  his  elbavvs  on  the 
dyke,  an'  does  some  mair  o'  the  thinkin'.  Then 
he  pits  on  his  third  best  hat  an'  avva'  he  sets  doon 
the  brae  to  the  shop,  an'  there,  as  oor  lass  Peg 
tolled  me,  him  an'  John  Aitken  ca'ed  the  crack  for 
the  best  pairt  o'  an  'oor.  Then  he  gangs  his  wa's 
in,  as  he  does  every  nicht,  to  see  the  Clerk  o'  oor 
Schule  Board,  wha  ance  at  an  election  time  made 
a  temperance  speech  in  the  next  coonty,  but  wha's 
ower  weel  kenned  a  man  to  do  the  like  at  hame. 
It  was  chappin'  nine  by  the  clock  when  the 
minister  cam'  hame  to  his  supper,  to  tak'  the 
Book,  an'  decently  to  gang  to  his  bed,  nae  doot 
wi'  the  approval  o'  his  conscience  that  he  had  dune 
a  good  day's  wark." 

"  An'  it's  time  that  we  were  a'  in  oor  beds  I " 
said  my  wife. 


THE  GLEN  KELLS  SHORT  LEET, 

There  was  a  silence  in  all  the  chambers  of  the 
manse  of  Glen  Kells.  A  wet  and  dreary  wind 
wailed  about  it  and  shook  the  rain-drops  off  the 
Scotch  firs  that  sheltered  it.  Hushed  footsteps 
moved  to  and  fro  in  the  kitchen,  with  occasional 
pauses,  as  if  conscious  of  their  own  inappropriate- 
ness.  There  was  the  dank  trail  of  many  wheels  on 
the  narrow  gravelled  walk  before  the  porch.  The 
rain  stood  in  them  as  in  the  dismalest  of  canals, 
It  was  the  day  after  the  minister's  funeral. 

In  an  upper  room  two  women  sat  looking  out  at 
the  rain.  The  younger  held  the  hand  of  the  elder  ; 
but  in  this  room  also  there  was  silence.  They  were 
silent,  for  they  had  seen  their  old  life  crumble  like 
a  swallow's  nest  in  the  rain,  and  they  had  not  yet 
seen  the  possibility  of  any  new  life  rise  before  them. 
So  they  sat  and  looked  at  the  rain,  and  it  seemed 
that  there  was  nothing  for  them  to  do  but  to  go 


I50  THE  GLEN  KELLS  SHORT  LEET. 

forward  for  ever  and  ever — the  rain  beating  about 
them,  their  feet 

"  Deep  down  in  a  drift  of  dead  leaves." 

•  ••••* 

There  was  a  "  short  leet " — mystic  words,  not 
understanded  of  the  Southron — in  the  Glen  of  the 
Kells.  The  "  short  leet  "  did  not  come  all  at  once 
— this  had  been  too  much  happiness,  tending  to 
make  kirk  "  members  and  adherents  "  lose  distinc- 
tion in  their  joys.  But  they  came — there  were  just 
three  of  them,  the  leet  being  the  shortest  of  leets — 
each  for  a  Sabbath  into  the  glen,  preaching  at  noon 
in  the  kirk,  and  in  the  evening  in  the  school-house 
of  the  clachan.  Yet  all  but  one  went  away  feeling 
that,  whoever  was  the  man,  it  could  not  possibly  be 
he,  for  the  congregation  of  the  hill-folk  at  each  diet 
of  worship  sat  silent  and  expressionless,  while  fiery 
denunciation  and  thunderous  exhortation  passed 
them  over  sitting  there  equal-minded  and  unscathed. 
The  first  who  preached  was  the  Rev.  James  Augustus 
Towers,  assistant  in  St.  Mungo's  in  Edinburgh,  no 
less.  He  had  been  pitched  upon  as  the  likely  man 
as  soon  as  the  list  had  been  made  up  by  the 
"c6- mi-tee" — the  assembly  of  office-bearers  and 
honourable  men  not  a  few  of  the  parish  of  Glen 
Kells.  The  Rev.  James  Augustus  Towers,  was  a 
distinguished  assistant.     He  had  been  brought  out, 


THE  GLEN  KELLS  SHORT  LEET.         151 

a  very  callow  fledgling,  under  the  aristocratic  wing 
of  the  great  Dr.  Paton,  the  Distinguished  Critic  and 
Superior  Person   of  the  whole  church.     There  he 
learned  that  Presbyterianism  had  no  claims  on  any 
man's  admiration — that  Presbytery  was  singularly 
unbeautiful — that  the  Beautiful  alone  was  the  Good 
— that  a  Creed  was   a  most  inconvenient  incum- 
brance— that    enthusiasm    made   a    man    hot   and 
ridiculous,  whilst  the  cultured  calms  and  ordered 
forms  of  the  Anglican  church,  as    understood   by 
her  higher  clergy,  were  the  only  things  really  worthy 
of  admiration,  though  even  these  must  be  carefully 
denuded  of  all  meaning.     Such  was  the  equipment 
wherewith  the  Rev.  James  Augustus  Towers  under- 
took to  become  a  candidate  for  the  suffrages  of  the 
herds  and  farmers  of  Glen  Kells.     He  brought  his 
own  gown  and  cassock  from  Edinburgh,  and  had 
a  coloured  cloth  hanging  over  his  back  when  he 
preached  in  the  kirk  in  the  morning.     The  sermon 
was  lost  to  the  Glen  of  the  Kells,  for  nobody  ever 
heard  a  word  of  it,  so  intent  were  their  eyes  on  this 
new   thing,  unknown    and    unimagined,  that   had 
come  into  their  midst.     The  "Frees "said  it  was 
"  a  rag  of  Rome,"  while  the  U.P.s  up  at  St.  John's 
Town  said  that  it  was  "  nocht  less  than  the  mark 
of  the  beast."     But  "  Clicky  "  Steward,  the  grieve 
at  Craigencaillie,  who  had  never  attended  church 


152  THE  GLEN  KELLS  SHORT  LEET. 

with  any  regularity  before,  and  who  meant  to  vote 
as  an  adherent,  said,  with  a  strong  expression  which 
those  who  know  him  will  recognise,  "  Say  as  ye 
like,  the  lad  wi'  the  tippet's  the  boy  for  me  !  "  And 
there  were  not  a  few  of  "  Clicky's  "  mind. 

All  the  candidates  stayed  at  the  manse,  past 
which  the  Kells  water  was  slipping  gently  as  of 
old.  The  late  minister's  widow  was  still  in  posses- 
sion, and  it  was  expected  by  the  not  unkindly  folk 
that  she  would  not  have  to  flit  till  May — "she  wad 
get  time  to  look  aboot  her."  Gavin  Ross  had  died 
a  poor  man,  but  he  had  not  forgotten  to  make 
what  provision  he  could  for  his  wife  and  daughter. 
Indeed,  there  had  no  day  dawned  and  no  night 
fallen  since  ever  he  married  when  he  did  not  bear 
this  within  him  next  the  very  skin  of  his  naked 
soul.  The  mother  and  daughter  had  looked  over 
the  possibilities — to  go  to  Edinburgh,  and  there  to 
take  the  better  kind  of  house  and  try  the  old  sad 
plan  of  keeping  lodgers,  which  none  who  undertake 
have  their  trials  to  seek  ;  to  settle  in  Cairn  Edward 
and  open  a  little  school,  where  no  doubt  Margaret 
could  get  a  few  pupils  in  music  and  French.  But 
in  the  heart  of  Margaret  Ross  there  often  came  a 
thought  which  never  visited  that  of  her  mother, 
that  the  best  of  these  prospects  was  miserably  in- 
adequate to  the  supply  of  her  mother's  needs  on 


THE  GLEN  KELLS  SHORT  LEET.         153 

anything  like  the  scale  to  which  she  was  accustomed. 
She  felt  that  it  lay  on  her  to  keep  her  mother, 
whose  heart  had  never  recovered  from  the  shock  of 
her  husband's  death — all  whose  sorrow  was  now 
bound  up  in  the  thought  that  before  long  she  must 
leave  the  manse  to  which  she  had  come  as  a  bride 
on  Gavin  Ross's  arm  so  many  years  ago. 

Into  this  home  of  silence  came  the  Rev.  James 
Augustus  Towers,  and  his  attitude  was  as  conde- 
scending and  superior  as  though  he  were  already 
master  of  the  manse,  and  the  pale  women-folk  but 
lodgers  on  sufferance.  He  made  himself  at  home 
— in  carpet  slippers,  for  it  was  only  in  the  pulpit 
that  he  covered  himself  with  the  vain  gauds  of 
adornment.  As  soon  as  he  came  to  a  dining-table, 
or  into  a  drawing-room — then,  ah  1  then,  in  spite 
of  the  veneer  of  culture,  it  was  in  the  power  of  the 
most  casual  observer  "  to  trace,  with  half  an  eye, 

The  still  triumphant  carrot  through  !" 

The  Rev.  James  Augustus  Towers,  assistant  in 
the  kirk  of  St.  Mungo,  sat  at  the  fire  in  the  manse 
dining-room  while  Margaret  Ross  helped  Janet  to 
take  the  things  to  the  kitchen  after  dinner.  He 
kept  his  back  steadily  to  them,  being  content  with 
himself  and  secure  of  his  chances.  Then  he  lay  at 
length  in  an  easy-chair  and  picked  his  teeth,  while 


154  THE  GLEN  KELLS  SHORT  LEET, 

the  carpet  slippers  sunned   themselves  on  Gavin 
Ross's  fender. 


It  was  the  night  when  the  Third  Candidate  was 
expected  at  the  manse  of  Kells.  He  had  never 
been  there  before,  but  a  friend  of  the  banker  who 
was  convener  of  committee  had  heard  the  lad  preach 
in  a  neighbouring  parish,  and  that  very  powerful 
man  had  exerted  his  influence  — no  light  thing  in 
a  community  of  small  farmers — to  have  Christopher 
Murray  put  on  the  list,  and  afterwards  drafted  into 
the  mystic  trio  of  the  short  leet.  The  Second 
Candidate  had  come  and  gone,  without  leaving  any 
impression  ;  "  his  name  was  indeed  writ  in  water." 
Had  he  known  it,  he  owed  this  to  the  banker.  He 
was  the  son  of  the  prominent  ecclesiast  who  was 
prime  minister  of  the  local  Presbytery — "  could 
twist  them  roon'  his  wee  finger,"  it  was  said.  Now 
the  banker  had  no  idea  of  committing  the  affairs 
of  the  parish  to  this  prominent  father  in  the  church 

"  Of  large  discourse  and  excellent  taste  in  wines." 

He  had  received  a  letter  from  the  wife  of  this 
gentleman,  who  was  a  distant  kin  of  his  own,  an 
epistle  evidently  inspired  by  a  hand  heavily  clerkly 
and  prcsbyterial,  recounting  the  marvels  of  her 
son's  academic  career,  and  all  his  later  fitness  for 


THE  GLEN  KELLS  SHORT  LEET,  155 

the  position  of  minister  of  the  parish  of  Glen  Kells. 
This  was  hardly  fair  to  the  youth,  who,  in  spite  of 
his  training,  was  a  really  modest  lad.  But  the 
banker,  a  man  wise  in  counsel  as  kindly  in  heart, 
smiled  as  he  wrote  him  down  on  his  official  list, 
under  the  column  devoted  to  testimonials — By 
whom  recommended.  "  The  Rev.  Roderick  Rorison, 
recommended  by  his  mother."  And  the  smile  was 
as  wide  and  as  long  as  the  Glen  Kells  in  twenty- 
four  hours  after  the  next  committee  meeting,  while 
the  young  man's  chances  had  utterly  vanished 
away. 

At  the  Bank  as  well  as  in  the  Manse  there  was 
expectancy  going  out  towards  the  gig  of  the 
farmer  of  Drumrash,  in  which  the  last  man  on  the 
short  leet  was  to  make  his  way  up  the  Glen  of  the 
Kells  Water.  On  its  jigging  and  swaying  eminence 
the  other  two  had  likewise  made  their  exits  and 
their  entrances.  For  Glen  Kells  believed  in  giving 
every  man  an  equal  chance — except  the  banker,  who 
smiled  to  himself  as  he  thought  of  the  Rev.  Peter 
Rorison,  folding  his  comfortable  hands  and  looking 
across  to  his  wife  as  if  between  them  they  had 
already  annexed  the  Glen  of  the  Kells  to  their 
diocese.  But  the  banker  was  far  from  comfortable  ; 
for,  though  he  wished  the  Rev.  Christopher  Murray 
well,  he  knew  that  if  he  failed  to  please,  the  only 


156         THE  GLEN  KELLS  SHORT  LEET, 

alternative  was  the  Rev.  James  Augustus  Towers — 
and  the  banker  did  not  admire  the  "  tippet." 

When  Christopher  Murray  topped  the  brae  at  the 
head  of  which  the  manse  stood,  he  was  thinking  of 
nothing  higher  than  the  prospect  of  a  cup  of  tea  and 
a  quiet  fire  by  which  to  spend  the  evening  and  read 
the  book  which  lie  had  brought  with  him  in  his  black 
bag.  He  pulled  at  the  manse  bell,  and  somewhere 
far  down  the  stone  passages  he  heard  it  ring.  It  had 
a  fixed  and  settled  sound,  quite  different  from  the 
deafening  clangour  of  the  town  house  bells,  where, 
when  you  pull  an  innocent-looking  knob  in  a  lintel, 
you  seem  to  set  in  motion  a  complete  church  peal 
immediately  on  the  other  side  of  the  door,  Chris- 
topher Murray  was  ready  to  tell  the  maid  whom 
he  expected  to  open  the  door  that  he  was  the 
minister  come  to  supply  on  the  next  day.  He  was 
prepared  for  that  look  of  compassion  for  his  youth 
which  he  knew  so  well,  which  said  as  plain  as 
words  could  say,  "  Puir  lad,  little  do  ye  ken  what's 
afore  ye  in  this  pairish  !  "  But  he  was  not  prepared 
for  what  he  did  see.  A  slender  girl  in  black,  fair 
as  a  lily,  stood  in  the  dark  of  the  doorway,  waiting 
for  him  to  speak.  Speak  he  did,  but  what  he  said 
he  could  never  remember  ;  for  he  found  himself, 
with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  endeavouring  to  apologise 
for  some  offence  which,  though  quite  clear  to  him- 


THE  GLEN  KELLS  SHORT  LEET.  157 

self,  he  was  strangely  unable  to  express  in  words. 
He  felt  himself  uncouth,  ungainly,  coltish,  generally 
"  in  the  road,"  but  he  never  got  any  great  length 
with  putting  it  into  words  ;  for  in  an  incredibly  short 
time  he  found  himself  mysteriously  at  home  in  the 
manse  parlour,  an  apartment  unpenetrated  by  the 
assurance  of  the  Rev.  James  Augustus  Towers,  or  the 
illustrious  ancestry  of  the  Rev.  Roderick  Rorison  ; 
where,  at  the  head  of  her  mother's  invalid  sofa,  his 
eyes  could  watch  the  busy  fingers  and  flower-like 
face  of  Margaret  Ross,  pathetic  in  her  black  dress. 
Christopher  Murray  was  an  orphan,  and  had  little 
knowledge  of  the  life  of  the  home,  but  he  says  now 
that  his  aspirations  for  a  home  of  his  own  dated 
from  this  time.  It  is  safest  to  believe  a  man  when 
he  tells  you  little  coincidences  of  this  kind.  Very 
likely  he  believes  them  himself 

The  fateful  morrow  came,  and  the  last  man  on 
the  leet  proved  himself  no  bungler.  He  preached 
straight  from  the  shoulder.  There  were  more  there 
at  night  than  had  been  in  the  forenoon,  a  thing 
that  had  not  been  known  in  the  Glen  Kells  in  the 
memory  of  man.  This  is  what  old  Betty  Grierson 
said  ;  she  was  a  great  critic  of  sermons,  and  they 
say  that  even  Mr.  Rorison  was  feared  for  her : 
"  'Deed,  sirs,  I  howp  the  fear  o'  God  has  been  gicn 
to  that  young  man,  for  of  a  truth  the  fear  o'  man 


r";8    THE  GLEN  KELLS  SHORT  LEET. 

has  been  withhauden  from  him,"  which  was  better 
than  twenty  testimonials  in  the  parish.  The 
banker  smiled,  for  he  knew  that  the  "  tippet "  had 
now  small  chance  of  being  aired  a  second  time  in 
the  kirk  of  the  Glen  Kells. 


So  Christopher  Murray  is  now  placed  minister  in 
the  Glen  of  the  Kells,  and  has  a  good  prospect  of  a 
home  of  his  own.  But  Mrs.  Ross  and  her  daughter 
Margaret  are  still  in  the  manse,  and  the  young 
minister  is  lodging  for  a  time  over  the  shop  in  the 
village.  The  Rosses  have  given  up  the  little  house 
they  had  taken  in  Cairn  Edward,  and  Christopher 
Murray  smiles  like  a  man  well  pleased  when  the 
people  ask  him  when  he  is  going  into  the  manse. 
He  does  not  think  that  Mrs.  Ross  will  be  troubled 
to  move  out  of  the  old  manse  overhanging  the 
Kells  Water  in  which  she  has  lived  so  long,  and  he 
has  the  best  of  reasons  for  his  belief. 


BOANERGES   SIMPSON'S  ENCUM- 
BRANCE, 

Every  one  said  that  it  was  a  pity  of  Boanerges 
Simpson,  the  minister  of  St.  Tudno's.  This  was 
universally  recognised  in  Maitland.  Not  only  the 
congregation  of  St.  Tudno's,  but  the  people  of  other 
denominations  knew  that  Mr.  Simpson  was  saddled 
with  a  wife  who  was  little  but  a  drag  upon  him. 
They  even  said  that  he  had  been  on  the  point  of 
obtaining  a  call  to  a  great  city  charge,  when,  his 
domestic  circumstances  being  inquired  into,  it  was 
universally  recognised  by  the  session  of  that  com- 
pany of  humble  followers  of  Christ  that,  however 
suitable  the  Rev.  Boanerges  Simpson  might  be  to 
receive  ;^i,200  a  year  for  preaching  the  Carpenter's 
gospel  to  it,  Mrs.  Boanerges  Simpson  was  not  at 
all  the  woman  to  dispense  afternoon  tea  to  the 
session's  spouses  between  the  hours  of  three  and 
six. 

It  was,  however,  also  well  known  that  the  minister 

»69 


i6o  BOANERGES  SIMPSON'S  ENCUMBRANCE. 

of  St.  Tudno's  bore  up  under  this  household  trial 
like  an  angel.  His  quiet  patience  with  his  help 
unmeet  became  a  proverb.  He  had  a  bland, 
vague,  upward-looking  eye,  and  walked  as  one 
wrapped  in  the  mysteries  of  such  deep  thought 
as  few  could  fathom.  When  any  one  glanced  at 
his  particular  sufiferings,  he  sighed  and  passed 
lightly  to  another  subject.  He  had  a  softly 
episcopal  handshake  which  made  some  women 
call  him  blessed,  and  many  men  itch  to  kick 
him.    This  handshake  was  one  of  his  chief  assets. 

But  his  great  power  came  out  in  his  sermons. 
Even  his  enemies  admitted  that  he  was  noble  in 
the  pulpit.  Yet  he  was  not  a  natural  orator.  He 
had  not  the  readiness  of  resource,  the  instantaneous- 
ness  of  attack  and  defence  requisite  for  the  speaker. 
His  sermons  were  given  in  an  exquisitely  varied 
recitative,  and  when  he  redelivered  them,  it  was 
often  remarked  with  admiration  that  he  placed  the 
emphasis  on  the  same  words,  made  the  same  pauses, 
and  became  affected  as  close  to  tears  as  decorum 
would  permit,  in  precisely  the  same  places. 

His  care  in  preparation  was  often  held  up  to  his 
brother  ministers  in  the  town  of  Maitland,  among 
whom  he  was  not  popular,  owing,  no  doubt,  to  the 
jealousy  which  prevails  in  all  professions.  Still 
they   had    him  often  to  preach  for  them,  for   n( 


BOANERGES  SIMPSON'S  ENCUMBRANCE.  i6i 

minister  in  the  country  could  draw  such  a  crowd 
— or  such  a  collection.  There  were  half  a  dozen 
rich  old  ladies  who  were  known  to  have  Mr. 
Simpson  in  their  wills,  and  these  accompanied 
him  about  wherever  he  preached,  like  Tabbies 
following  a  milk  jug.  There  were  also  a  good 
many  ladies  of  various  ages  who  visited  at  the 
manse  of  St.  Tudno's  at  hours  when  the  Reverend 
Boanerges  was  known  to  be  resting  from  the 
labours  of  sermon  production  in  the  drawing- 
room.  They  did  not  often  see  his  wife.  She,  no 
doubt,  felt  herself  quite  unpresentable,  poor  thing  ! 
So  one  of  the  visitors  was  asked  to  dispense 
tea.  This  was  generally  recognised  to  be  as  it 
should  be. 

The  town  of  Maitland  came  as  near  to  being  a 
city  as  some  fools  come  to  being  geniuses.  Mait- 
land has  an  ancient,  and,  in  its  early  stages,  an 
honourable  history.  It  had  been  a  great  city  when 
the  capital  of  Scotland  was  a  barren  rock,  and 
when  the  fisher  steered  his  coracle  below  the 
lonely  braes  of  the  Clydeside  Broomielaw.  In  its 
latter  days  it  had  taken  to  the  manufacture  of 
thread  and  the  digging  of  coal.  But  its  burghers 
have  still  much  pride  about  them,  severely  tempered 
with  economy. 

Some  years  ago  Maitland  resolved  on  having  new 


i62  BOANERGES  SIMPSON'S  ENCUMBRANCE. 

municipal  buildings.  The  ancient  town  hall  was  also 
in  its  under  story  the  gaol,  and  it  was  not  seemly 
that  the  bailies  and  the  very  provost  should  be 
compelled  to  listen  to  the  sighing  of  the  prisoner 
whom  they  had  just  committed  for  being  drunk 
and  disorderly,  and  who  in  the  cells  beneath  still 
audibly  continued  to  be  the  latter.  The  town 
hall  was,  therefore,  abandoned  to  the  victims  of 
police  interference,  and  the  new  municipal  build- 
ings rose  nobly  in  the  middle  of  the  town. 

But  when  the  first  assessment  of  one  and  ten- 
pence  in  the  pound  was  made  on  the  ratepayers, 
they  rose  in  instant  rebellion.  Letters  in  the  local 
papers  could  not  ease  the  smart.  They  must  have 
the  blood  of  the  whole  town  council,  and  specially 
of  the  bailies.  The  provost  was  held  to  be  a  decent 
man  who  had  been  led  into  this  bad  business 
against  his  will.  This  provost  was  the  paragon 
of  provosts.  He  spoke  broad  Scots,  and  spoke  it, 
too,  with  a  rollicking  local  accent  which  went 
straight  to  the  heart  of  every  Maitland  man  and 
woman.  He  had  wrinkles  round  his  eyes,  and  the 
meditative  way  with  him  which  all  meal  millers 
achieve  from  leaning  their  elbows  on  the  lower 
halves  of  their  mill  doors.  He  sometimes  came  to 
the  council  with  the  white  dust  of  his  profession 
emphasising  his  homeliness.     The  Rev.  Boanerges 


BOANERGES  SIMPSON'S  ENCUMBRANCE.  163 

Simpson  had  a  pique  at  the  provost.  The  trenchant 
Doric  sense  of  the  layman  cut  through  the  preten- 
tious unction  of  the  cleric  like  a  knife  through  soap. 
But  hitherto  the  opposition  had  been  private,  for 
the  provost  had  the  strange  taste  to  prefer  the 
invisible  and  incompatible  wife  to  the  active  and 
brilliant  husband. 

The  matter  of  the  municipal  buildings  came  to  a 
head  over  the  town  bell.  There  was  an  indignation 
meeting  summoned  by  aggrieved  ratepayers,  and 
all  the  correspondents  of  the  local  newspapers 
attended  in  force.  The  Rev.  Boanerges  Simpson 
proposed  the  first  resolution,  "That  it  is  the 
opinion  of  this  meeting  that  the  proposal  to  waste 
the  ratepayers'  money  in  a  bell  to  be  used  for 
profane  purposes  is  subversive  of  all  morality  and 
good  government,  and  the  provost  and  magistrates 
(except  Councillor  MacBean  of  the  Third  Ward, 
who  voted  against  it),  are  requested  to  resign  forth- 
with." The  Rev.  Boanerges  was  not  so  fluent  as 
usual.  His  forte  was  the  pulpit.  He  liked  to  keep 
himself  before  the  public,  but  he  lacked  in  a  gather- 
ing of  men  his  personal  following  of  old  ladies, 
and  had  not  quite  his  usual  nerve  in  consequence. 
The  motion  was,  however,  unanimously  carried, 
and  that  with  great  acclamation.  Resolution  after 
resolution  was  carried,  each  more  sweeping  than 


i64  BOANERGES  SIMPSON'S  ENCUMBRANCE- 

the  last.  Enthusiastic  indignation  rose  feverishly 
till  the  burgesses  were  almost  committed  to  burn- 
ing the  magistrates  in  front  of  their  own  doors. 
Now  the  provost  had  been  all  day  from  home,  and 
did  not  hear  of  the  meeting  till  some  time  after 
his  return. 

"  I'll  gie  mysel'  a  bit  wash  an'  gang  doon,"  he 
said,  quietly. 

When  he  stepped  on  the  platform  he  was  received 
with  a  storm  of  howls.  The  meeting  would  not 
hear  him.  Councillor  MacBean,  who  had  the  credit 
of  being  able  to  swing  the  Third  Ward  like  a  dead 
cat,  and  who  thought  of  standing  for  provost,  led 
the  groans. 

The  provost  waited  smiling.  He  dusted  the 
meal  from  the  creases  of  his  coat,  and  brushed  up 
his  grey  soft  hat  with  his  elbow.  He  even  got  out 
his  knife  to  pare  his  nails.  At  last  he  got  in  a  word, 
and  as  soon  as  ever  his  sonorous  steady  Scots  was 
heard  the  storm  fell  to  a  dead  calm,  for  the  only 
man  who  could  sway  a  Maitland  audience  was  on 
his  feet,  and  the  provost  knew  that  the  hearts  of 
these  men  were  like  wax  in  his  hands.  This  was 
the  matter  of  his  speech  : 

"  My  freens,  Aw  was  up  at  Allokirk  the  day,  an' 
div  ye  ken  what  the  craiturs  war  sayin'  ?  Na,  ye'll 
no'  believe  me  gin  Aw  tell  ye.     The  assurance  o' 


BOANERGES  SIMPSON'S  ENCUMBRANCE.  165 

the  upsetting  cieests  is  juist  by  ordinar'.  Ye  ken 
that  Allokirk  can  never  forgie  Maitland  for  bein' 
a  bigger,  bonnier,  aulder  toon,  and  for  haein'  the 
kings  an'  queens  o'  braid  Scotland  lying  in  cor 
aibbey  yaird  ower  by.  Wha  but  a  wheen  Allokirk 
jute  fowk  an'  ither  upstart  tinkler  bodies  wad  lie 
ablow  the  jow  o'  the  Allokirk  bell " 

Cries  of  "  Come  to  the  point ! "  "  We  dinna 
want  to  hear  aboot  Allokirk.  It's  aboot  oor  ain 
bell  we  want  to  hear."  **  Ye'll  no'  throw  stoor  in 
oor  een,  provost !  " 

"  Bide  a  wee,  I'm  juist  comin'  to  that.  This  is 
what  the  Allokirk  fowk  were  sayin'.  Ye  ken  the 
thocht  o'  oor  braw  new  toon  buildin'  is  juist  gall 
and  wormwud  to  them.  They  ken  that  their  toon 
hall  vvadna  be  a  back  kitchen  to  the  Maitland 
fowk's,  an'  sae,  to  even  themsel's  to'  us,  what  hae 
the  blasties  dune  but  gotten  a  bell  to  hing  in  their 
bit  toorock — a  twenty-ton  bell,  nae  less.  An,'  says 
they,  the  like  o'  that  bell  wull  never  ring  in  Mait- 
land toon  !  Na,  the  puir  feckless,  bankrupt  bodies 
o'  Maitland,  wi'  their  thread  an'  their  coals,  canna 
afford  sic  a  bell  as  Allokirk  has  !  Whatna  answer 
wull  ye  gie  back,  ma  frien's  }  Wull  ye  let  Allokirk 
craw  ower  you  ?  Wull  ye  sit  doon  like  Henny- 
penny  in  the  hornbuik  '  wi'  your  finger  in  your 
•  A  picture  in  the  old-fashioned  child's  primer. 


i66  BOANERGES  SIMPSON'S  ENCUMBRANCE. 

mooth  ?  Na,  ye're  Maitland  men,  and  as  sure  as 
yer  provost  is  a  Maitland  man  we'll  hing  a  thirty 
ton  bell  in  oor  braw  too'er,  and  ilka  jow  o't, 
soondin'  across  the  water,  wull  tell  the  AUokirk 
bodies  that  they're  but  cauld  kail  an'  soor  dook 
beside  the  burgers  o'  the  Auld  Grey  Toon  !  " 

The  meeting  here  rose  in  a  frenzy.  The  thirty- 
ton  bell  was  voted.  MacBean  was  put  out  feet 
foremost  for  moving  the  previous  question,  and  the 
Rev.  Boanerges  Simpson  went  home  to  bring  his 
wife  to  a  sense  of  her  position. 

After  this  the  provost  was  more  inclined  than 
before  to  like  his  worsted  antagonist,  and  even  got 
into  the  habit  of  attending  the  church  of  St.  Tudno. 

What  bothered  him  most  was  the  quality  of  the 
sermons  of  the  Rev.  Boanerges  Simpson.  They 
were  certainly  full  of  a  subtle  sympathy  with  the 
suffering  and  down-trodden.  An  exquisite  pathos 
welled  through  them.  It  was  a  remarkable  fact 
that  many  of  the  most  impartial  and  intelligent  of 
the  congregation  listened  to  these  productions  with 
their  eyes  shut,  in  order  that  they  might  not  have 
the  contrast  of  the  preacher's  oleaginous  presence 
and  his  thrilling  words.  It  was  also  observed  and 
commented  upon  that  on  the  occasions  when  every 
eye  in  the  church  was  riveted  upon  the  preacher, 
his  own  wife  never  so  much  as  raised  her  eyes  from 


BOANERGES  SIMPSON'S  ENCUMBRANCE.  107 

the  bookboard.  This  was  set  down  to  a  nature 
averse  to  the  message  of  grace  which  so  strongly 
affected  others.  The  provost's  sister  called  his  at- 
tention to  this,  and  even  the  good  man  was  some- 
what shaken  in  his  belief  in  the  minister's  wife. 
Whatever  her  private  opinion  of  her  husband,  she 
should  certainly  have  shown  her  reverence  for  a 
man  so  highly  gifted  with  a  message. 

Day  by  day,  therefore,  Mrs.  Simpson  shrank 
more  and  more  into  her  own  silence.  Isolation 
grew  upon  her  till  she  had  walled  herself  off 
from  her  fellow-creatures.  Then  she  stopped 
going  to  church  at  all,  and  the  Rev.  Boanerges 
walked  along  with  the  seraphic  smile  of  a 
martyr  whose  burden  was  almost  more  than  he 
could  bear.  His  sermons  became  too  high  strung 
and  ethereal  for  the  edification  of  the  work- 
aday sons  and  daughters  of  men.  What  was  the 
most  extraordinary  thing  of  all,  the  pathos  and 
sentiment,  the  spiritual  communion  were  so  clearly 
a  personal  experience  of  the  preacher,  that  even 
those  who  had  been  repelled  by  his  personality 
gave  him  credit  for  having  such  communion  with 
the  unseen  as  few  are  privileged  to  attain  to  in  this 
world.  There  was  a  deep  belief  in  Maitland  that 
there  can  be  no  effect  without  a  sufficient  cause,  for 
Maitland  is  above  all  things  a  logical  place.     St, 


i68  BOANERGES  SIMPSON'S  ENCUMBRANCE. 

Tudno's  became  a  place  of  pilgrimage  from  far  and 
near,  and  its  gifted  and  saintly  minister  seemed  to 
be  mellowing  from  a  Boanerges  into  a  John.  It 
was  thought  that  what  he  was  suffering  at  home 
was  refining  his  soul.  It  is  thus  that  the  finest 
spirits  are  moulded.  The  provost  was  so  touched 
that  he  went  to  ask  his  pardon  for  any  hasty  ex- 
pressions which  he  might  have  used  in  the  affair  of 
the  bell.  Mrs.  Simpson  received  him  and  listened 
with  a  dull  silence  to  his  frank  and  kindly  words. 

"  Your  guidman  an'  me  haes  oor  differences," 
said  the  provost  ;  "  but  I  wull  alloo  that  there's 
naebody  atween  Tweed  an'  Tay  can  come  within  a 
lang  sea  mile  o*  him  for  preachin'." 

The  minister's  wife  made  a  strange  reply. 

"  Would  you  say  as  much  a  year  from  now,  if 
many  other  people  were  to  turn  against  him  ?  "  she 
asked,  lifting  her  abased  eyes  and  letting  them  rest 
for  a  moment  on  the  kindly  face  of  the  good 
provost. 

"  Aw'm  gye  an'  weel  used  to  stickin'  to  my 
opeenion,"  said  the  meal  miller.  *  Aw  hae  seen  the 
Maitland  fowk's  verdick  come  roon'  to  mine  a  deal 
oftener  than  mine  whurl  aboot  to  theirs  !  " 

"  Then  you'll  be  a  friend  to  my  husband  in  the 
days  to  come,"  she  said,  earnestly. 

"  That  Aw  wull  !  "  said  the  provost,  heartily. 


BOANERGES  SIMPSON'S  ENCUMBRANCE.  169 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mrs.  Simpson  ;  "  thank  you 
more  than  I  can  tell  you.  That  is  what  I've  been 
praying  for.     I'll  sleep  sound  to-night !  " 

And  she  did.  Only  she  forgot  to  awaken  the 
next  morning.  The  funeral  was  a  great  one,  for 
the  sake  of  the  bereaved  man  ;  but  every  one  felt 
that  a  barrier  to  the  success  of  the  preacher  had 
been  providentially  removed.  On  the  Sabbath 
following  there  was  such  a  congregation  as  has 
never  been  seen  since  within  the  walls  of  St. 
Tudno's.  The  minister  surpassed  himself.  There 
was  not  a  dry  eye  between  the  topmost  gallery  and 
the  back  seat  below  the  loft  where  the  provost  sat. 
Now,  in  that  church  it  was  the  custom  of  the  elders 
to  take  in  the  Bible  and  bring  it  out  to  the  vestry 
afterwards.  This  they  did  in  rotation.  It  was  the 
provost's  day.  As  he  lifted  the  Bible,  the  sermon 
slid  to  the  floor.  He  picked  it  up,  glanced  at  it,  and 
turned  pale.  Then  he  sat  down  to  recover  himself 
The  funeral  sermon  tvas  neatly  written  out  in  Mrs. 
Simpson's  own  hand. 

The  Rev.  Boanerges  never  preached  another 
great  sermon — never  one  even  mediocre.  It  was 
said  that  grief  had  permanently  weakened  his 
faculties.  It  is  strange  that  men  cannot  benefit  by 
the  opportunities  which  Providence  makes  for  them, 
Ti\ere  were  many  who  wondered  that  the  provost 


r70  BOANERGES  SIMPSON'S  ENCUMBRANCE. 

stood  by  him  ;  but  the  meal  miller  was  not  the 
man  to  forget  a  word  passed  to  a  dead  woman,  and 
he  kept  her  secret  well.  He  was  (and  is)  the  pearl 
of  provosts. 

As  for  the  Rev.  Boanerges,  he  married  again 
within  a  year,  a  maiden  lady  with  ;^50,ooo  in 
consols  and  a  temper — both  her  own.  Her  husband 
is  a  man  of  great  reputation.  He  has  retired  to  a 
comfortable  estate  in  the  Highlands,  which  shows 
that  true  merit  is  always  rewarded.  He  has  since 
put  out  two  volumes  of  sermons,  which  are  allowed 
by  the  religious  press  to  be  among  the  most  subtle 
and  suggestive  which  have  been  published  this 
century.  They  ought  to  be  in  every  preacher's 
library.  His  first  wife  had  carefully  copied  them 
all  out  for  the  printer,  which  seems  to  be  about  the 
only  useful  thing  she  did  during  her  life.  But  the 
funeral  sermon  was  written  in  the  minister's  large 
sprawling  characters.  There  is  no  monument  over 
the  grave  of  the  first  Mrs.  Simpson,  but  the  provost 
often  walks  out  there  of  an  evening  and  lays  a 
white  rose  upon  it. 


A   KNIGHT  ERRANT  OF  THE  STREETS. 

Cleg  ^  Kelly  was  out  of  his  latitude,  and  knew 
it.  He  was  a  Pleasance  laddie,  and  he  lived  in  one 
of  the  garret  rooms  of  a  big  "  land,"  as  full  of  pass- 
ages and  bye-ways  as  a  rabbit  warren.  He  was 
not  a  Christian,  was  Cleg  Kelly.  Neither  was  his 
father.  He  said  he  was  a  "  snow-shoveller,"  and  as 
his  profession  could  be  carried  on  during  a  very 
limited  number  of  days  in  the  year,  he  made  his 
fellow-citizens  chargeable  for  his  keep  during  the 
rest  of  the  year,  and  personally  collected  the  need- 
ful. So  his  fellow-citizens  thoughtfully  provided 
for  his  accommodation  a  splendid  edifice  on  the 
side  of  the  Calton — the  same  which  American 
tourists  wax  enthusiastic  about  as  they  come  into 
the  Scots  metropolis  by  the  North  British  Railway, 
mistaking  its  battlemented  towers  for  those  of 
Edinburgh  Castle. 

Here  Mr.  Timothy  Kelly  occupied  a  beautifully 

'  "  Cleg  "  means,  in  the  dialect  of  the  Lowlands,  the  small 
common  gad-fly  or  horse-fly. 

171 


172   A  KNIGHT  ERRANT  OF  THE  STREETS. 

clean  and  healthy  apartment  for  at  least  six  months 
in  the  year.  During  this  time  he  worked  at  a 
Government  contract,  and  so,  of  course,  could  not 
devote  much  time  to  the  education  of  his  son  and 
heir.  But  Tim  Kelly,  though  a  fascinating  study, 
must  not  tempt  us  away  from  his  equally  accom- 
plished son.  As  was  said  at  the  beginning,  Cleg 
Kelly  was  out  of  his  latitude,  and  he  did  not  like  it. 
It  was  Sunday  afternoon,  and  he  had  been  across 
the  narrow  isthmus  of  houses  which  separates  the 
Alps  of  the  Salisbury  Crags  from  the  Lombard 
plain  of  the  Meadows.  He  had  been  putting  in  his 
attendances  at  five  Sunday  schools  that  day,  for  it 
was  the  leafy  month  of  June  when  "trips  "  abound, 
and  Cleg  Kelly  was  not  quite  so  green  as  the 
summer  foliage  ;  besides  all  which,  about  five 
o'clock  there  are  lots  of  nice  clean  children  in  that 
part  of  the  town  on  their  way  home  from  "  Con- 
gregational" Sabbath  schools.  These  did  not  speak 
to  Cleg,  for  he  only  went  to  the  Mission  schools 
which  were  specially  adapted  for  such  as  he.  Also, 
he  wore  no  stockings.  But  Cleg  Kelly  was  not 
bashful,  so  he  readily  spoke  to  them.  He  noted, 
especially,  a  spruce  party  of  three  leaving  a 
chemist's  shop  on  the  shortest  track  between  the 
park  and  the  meadows,  and  he  followed  them 
down  through  the  narrow  defile  of  Gifford  Park — 


A  KNIGHT  ERRANT  OF  THE  STREETS.    173 

thoughts  of  petty  larceny  crystallising  in  his  heart. 
Ere  they  could  escape  through  the  needle's  eye  at 
the  further  end,  Cleg  Kelly  had  accosted  them 
after  his  kind. 

"  Hey,  you,  gie's  that  gundy  [toffy],  or  I'll  knock 
your  turnip  heids  thegither ! "  The  three  lambs  stood 
at  bay,  huddled  close  together,  and  helplesslybleated 
feeble  derisives  at  the  wolf  who  has  headed  them  off 
from  safety  ;  but  their  polite  and  Englishy  tone  was 
a  source  of  Homeric  laughter  to  this  Thersites  of 
the  Pleasance.  He  mocked  their  decent  burgher 
attire  ;  he  sparred  up  to  them  —  his  "  neives " 
describing  stately  circles  like  a  paddle  wheel — and, 
shaking  a  murky  fist  an  inch  below  their  several 
noses,  he  invited  them  individually  to  "  smell  that," 
and  then  inform  him  where  they  would  like  it 
applied,  together  with  other  resourceful  amenities,  as 
the  auctioneer's  advertisements  say,  too  numerous 
to  mention.  While  the  marauding  wolf  was  thus  at 
play  with  his  innocent  victims,  scorning  their  feeble 
efforts  at  rejoinder,  and  circumventing  without 
difficulty  their  yet  feebler  efforts  at  flight,  it  so 
happened  that  a  member  of  the  city  force,  to  whom 
Master  Cleg  Kelly  was  well  known,  stopped  for 
a  moment  to  look  down  the  aristocratic  avenues  of 
the  park,  bordered  with  frugal  lines  of  "  ash 
backets  "  for  all  ornament.      The   coincidence   of 


174    A  KNIGHT  ERRANT  OF  THE  STREETS. 

necessity  and  presence  is  remarkable,  but  not  un- 
precedented. He  was  a  young  officer  of  but 
eighteen  months'  standing,  and  his  district  had 
been  previously  in  the  "  Sooth  Back,"  a  district  to 
which  the  talent  of  Master  Kelly  was  indigenous. 
Had  the  officer  been  six  months  more  in  the  ser- 
vice, he  would  probably  have  contented  himself 
with  a  warning  trumpet  note  which  would  have 
sent  the  enemy  flying ;  but  being  young  and 
desirous  of  small  distinctions,  he  determined  to 
"  nab  the  young  scamp  and  take  him  along."  He 
had  full  justification  for  this,  for  at  this  moment  a 
howl  told  that  the  assault  had  reached  the  stage  of 
battery,  and  that  the  young  "  gundy  "  garrotter  was 
qualifying  for  the  cat  at  an  early  age,  by  com- 
mitting robbery  with  violence. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Cleg  felt  that  there's 
no  place  like  home.  He  was  a  stranger  in  a  strange 
land,  where  he  knew  not  even  the  walls  that  had 
nicks  in  them,  climbable  by  the  sooty  toe  of  an 
eleven-year-old  city  boy.  He  could  not  tell 
whether  any  particular  "  land  "  had  a  ladder  and 
trap-door — valuable  right-of-way  upon  the  roof 
He  knew  not  the  alleys  which  gave  double  exit  by 
unexpected  elbows,  and  he  could  not  shun  those 
which  invited  with  fair  promises,  but  which  were 
really  traps  with  no  way  of  escape.     He  did  not 


A  KNIGHT  ERRANT  OF  THE  STREETS.    175 

wish,  in  that  awful  moment,  that  he  had  been  a 
better  boy,  as  his  young  Sunday-school  teacher 
in  Hunker  Court  had  often  urged  him  to  become  ; 
what  he  wanted  was  the  "  Sooth  Back,"  ten  yards 
start,  and  the  rigour  of  the  game.  But  there 
was  no  time  for  meditation,  for  the  heavy  footed, 
but  alert  young  "bobby"  was  almost  upon  him. 
Cleg  Kelly  sprang  side-ways  and  dived  into  the 
first  convenient  entry,  then  skimmed  up  some  steps 
that  wound  skyward,  down  again,  and  along  a 
passage  with  not  a  single  side  turning.  He  heard 
his  pursuer  lumbering  after  him,  and  his  own  heart 
kettle-drumming  in  his  ears.  An  unexpected 
doorway  gave  outward  as  his  weight  came  on  it, 
and  he  found  himself  in  a  curious  court  somewhere 
at  the  back  of  St  Simon  Square,  as  near  as  he  could 
make  out.  There  was  a  strange  square  block 
towards  one  side  of  the  open  space,  round  which 
he  ran  ;  and,  climbing  up  a  convenient  roan  or 
water  pipe,  he  squirmed  himself  through  a  stair 
window,  crossed  the  landing  of  an  uninhabited 
house,  and  looked  down  on  the  interior  of  a  court 
which  was  well  known  to  him,  from  the  safe 
elevation  of  a  first  floor  window.  As  he  rested, 
panting,  he  said  to  himself  that  he  "  kenned  where 
he  was  noo."  It  was  the  court  which  contained 
one  of  his  too  numerous  Sunday  schools.    Hunker 


176   A  KNIGHT  ERRANT  OF  THE  STREETS. 

Court  Mission  School  was  "  scaling."  As  it  was 
the  school  where  there  was  most  "  fun,"  it  was  also 
the  school  which  was  best  beloved  by  that  scholar 
who  was  duly  enrolled  in  Miss  Celie  Tennant's 
class  [No.  6],  as  : — 

C.  Kelly ^  age  14,  Residence,  200  Pleasance. 
— the  age  being  a  gratuitous  impromptu  on  the 
part  of  Cleg  in  order  to  impress  his  teacher 
with  a  sense  of  his  importance — in  his  own 
language,  "  a  big  lee  !  "  "  Fun  "  in  this  Mission 
school  meant  chiefly  bombarding  the  teachers  as 
they  ran  the  gauntlet  after  the  school  was  dis- 
missed, specially  one,  who  for  private  reasons  was 
known  as  "  Pun'  o'  Cannles."  All  this  happened 
years  ago,  and  of  course  there  are  no  such  schools 
in  Edinburgh  now.  But  Celie  Tennant,  a  cheery 
little  lady  with  the  brightest  eyes  that  Cleg  had 
ever  seen,  had  never  been  molested.  This  day 
Cleg  watched,  with  the  delight  of  the  bird  that 
has  just  escaped  the  fowler's  snare,  the  "  clodding  " 
of  the  teachers,  and  their  discomposed  look  as  the 
missiles  interfered  with  their  dignity.  He  was 
a  connoisseur  in  these  matters,  and  applauded 
critically  as  a  cunningly  directed  cabbage  heart 
dropped  reposefully  into  "  Pun'  o'  Cannles' "  tail 
pockets.  He  remembered  how  his  ears  had  rung 
under   the  very  hand   which   now   extracted  the 


A  KNIGHT  ERRANT  DF  THE  STREETS.    177 

cabbage  under  a  galling  cross  fire.  He  observed 
how  Humpy  Joe,  the  pride  of  Simon  Square,  deftly 
removed  the  "  lum  hat "  of  the  newest  teacher,  who 
had  yet  to  learn  what  clothes  to  come  in  when  he 
set  out  to  instruct  the  youth  of  Gifford  Park.  He 
saw  with  complaisance  Archie  Drabble,  the  "  de'il  " 
of  the  school,  prepare  a  hand  grenade  of  moist 
mud  for  the  superintendent,  as  he  thought.  The 
young  idea  of  the  city  needs  not  to  be  taught  how 
to  shoot.  He  rubbed  his  hands  with  glee  to  think 
how  juicily  and  satisfactorily  the  "  pyeowe"  would 
spread,  and  he  became  d\s,t\nci\y partkeps  crijninibiis 
as  the  most  gleeful  of  accessories  before  the  fact. 
But  at  this  moment  out  walked  his  own  teacher, 
Miss  Tennant,  on  her  way  home  through  Archer's 
Hall  by  way  of  the  Meadows.  Now  Cleg  Kelly 
was  secretly  and  desperately  in  love  with  his  teacher, 
and  he  would  willingly  have  gone  to  school  every 
Sunday,  simply  to  be  scolded  by  her  for  mis- 
behaviour. He  found  that  this  was  the  best  way 
to  keep  her  attention  fixed  upon  him  ;  and  the 
boy  who  sat  next  him  in  class  had  a  poor  time  of 
it.  It  pleased  Cleg  to  notice  that  his  teacher 
had  a  new  summer  hat  and  dress  on,  one  that  he 
had  not  seen  before.  Cleg  became  sorry,  for 
the  first  time,  that  he  had  waited  to  take  it  out  of 
these  "  softies."     This  was  the  nearest  that  he  ever 


178    A  KNIGHT  ERRANT  OF  THE  STREETS. 

came  to  repentance.  It  struck  him  that  he  might 
have  looked  at  the  hat  and  dress,  and  the  face 
between,  for  an  hour.  It  is  a  mistake  to  think  that 
boys  do  not  notice  dress.  The  boy,  as  has  been 
said  before  more  than  once,  is  the  father  of  the 
man.  Cleg  was  complacently  feeling  a  proprietary 
interest  in  both  the  summer  hat  and  bright  print 
dress,  when  suddenly  his  eye  caught  the  slouching 
figure  of  Archie  Drabble,  standing  exactly  beneath. 
Cleg's  face  whitened  as  he  took  in  his  intention. 
Could  it  be  to  desecrate  the  spotless  hat  and 
dress  of  his.  Cleg's,  teacher,  hitherto  held  inviolate 
by  the  strange  chivalry  of  Hunker  Court  School? 
Small  time  there  was  for  the  true  knight  to  don  his 
armour  and  ride  cap-a-pie  into  the  lists.  There 
was  no  time  to  blow  a  trumpet,  even  had  one  been 
handy.  There  were  no  heralds  to  announce  the 
victory  of  the  champion  of  distressed  demoiselles  ; 
but  all  these  could  not  have  rendered  the  feat  of 
arms  (if  so  it  might  be  called  which  was  mostly  legs) 
more  rounded  and  complete.  As  the  cowardly  arm 
of  the  "  Drabble  " — fit  name  for  knight  unknightly 
— paused  a  moment  to  gather  force  for  the  dastard's 
blow  ;  and  even  as  the  unconscious  lady  of  the 
Road  Perilous  half  turned  to  settle  her  skirts  into  a 
daintier  swing,  a  bolt  fell  from  the  blue,  a  deus  from 
the  machina — a  small  boy  arrayed  completely  in  two 


A  KNIGHT  ERRANT  OF  THE  STREETS.    179 

well-ventilated  garments,  sprang  with  horrid  yell 
from  a  first-floor  window,  and,  sudden  as  Jove's 
thunderbolt,  struck  the  audacious  Drabble  to  the 
earth.  Then  springing  up,  this  impish  Mercury  of 
Hunker  Court  dowsed  the  prostrate  one  with  his 
own  hand  grenade,  hoisted  him  with  a  grimy  foot 
in  lieu  of  a  petard,  once  more  returned  him  to 
earth  with  that  clenched  organ  to  which  the 
"  softies  "  had  been  invited  to  apply  their  noses. 
Having  performed  a  war  dance  on  the  prostrate  foe 
which  had  small  store  of  knightly  courtesy  in  it, 
Cleg,  with  the  derring-do  of  battle  upon  him, 
dared  the  assembled  Mission  to  the  unequal  fray  ; 
and,  no  champion  accepting,  presently  took  him- 
self off,  as  unconventionally  as  he  came,  turning 
three  double  cart  wheels  through  the  archway  that 
led  in  the  direction  of  the  Meadows.  So  uplifted 
was  he  by  the  pride  of  success,  that  he  looked 
about  valiantly  for  the  "  bobby."  He  was  not  in 
sight. 

"  It's  as  wee!  for  him  !  "  said  the  hero  of  battles. 

As  Miss  Celie  Tennant  waited  at  her  own  gate  a 
moment  that  afternoon,  she  was  aware,  as  heroines 
often  are,  of  the  presence  of  a  hero.  He  was  small 
and  very  dirty,  and  he  stood  by  a  lamp-post 
abstracted,  scratching  one  bare  leg  with  the  toe  of 
the  other  foot.     It  is  a  primeval  attitude,  and  Sir 


i8o   A  KNIGHT  ERRANT  OF  THE  STREETS. 

John  Lubbock  will  be  able  to  explain  it     Some 
thing  familiar  caught  the  lady's  attention. 

"  Is  that  you,  Charles  ? "  she  asked  ;  "  why  didn't 
you  come  to  Sunday  school  to-day  ? "  She  was 
under  the  impression  that  "  C."  in  her  roll-book 
stood  for  Charles.      This  was  a  mistake. 

Charles  gasped  inarticulately,  and  was  under- 
stood to  say  that  he  would  be  on  view  next  Sabbath 
without  fail. 

Celie  Tennant  patted  him  kindly  on  the  head, 
tripped  gracefully  up  the  steps,  and  paused  to  nod 
ere  she  reached  the  door.  Not  till  then  did  Cleg 
Kelly  find  his  tongue. 

"  Pit  on  the  new  frock,"  he  said,  "dinna  be  feared, 
Airchie  Drabble  'ill  throw  nae  mair  glaur  !  " 

"  Thank  you,  Charles  !  "  said  the  summer  hat,  in 
sweet  unconsciousness  of  his  meaning,  as  the  door 
closed.  This  is  how  Cleg  Kelly  began  to  be  a 
Christian. 


THE  PROGRESS   OF  CLEG  KELLY, 

MISSION    WORKER. 

Inquiring  friends  request  the  latest  news  of 
Mr.  C  Kelly,  of  the  "Sooth  Back."  We  are 
most  happy  to  supply  them,  for  Cleg  is  a 
favourite  of  our  own.  Since  we  revealed  how 
he  began  to  become  a  Christian,  Cleg  has  felt 
himself  more  or  less  of  a  public  character  ;  but 
he  is  modest,  and  for  several  weeks  kept  out  of 
our  way,  apparently  lest  he  should  be  put  into 
another  book.  A  too  appreciative  superintendent 
unfortunately  read  the  plain  little  story  of  Cleg's 
gallant  knight-errantry  to  the  senior  division  of 
his  sometime  school,  and  Cleg  blushed  to  find 
himself  famous.  Consequently  he  left  Hunker 
Court  for  good.  But  for  all  that  he  is  secretly 
pleased  to  be  in  a  book,  and  having  received  our 
most  fervent  assurance  that  he  will  not  be  made 
into  a  "  tract,"  he  has  signified  that  he  is  appeased, 
and    that  -  no   legal    proceedings    will    be    taken. 

x8i 


1 82  THE  PROGRESS  OF  CLEG  KELLY. 

Cleg  does  not  so  much  mind  a  book,  a  book  is 
respectable  ;  but  he  draws  the  line  at  tracts.  He 
says  that  he  is  "  doon  on  them  tracks."  Even  as 
a  reformed  character  they  raise  the  old  Adam  in 
him.  A  good  lady,  sweeping  hy  in  her  carriage 
the  other  day,  threw  one  graciously  to  the  ragged 
lad,  who  was  standing  in  a  moment  of  meditation 
pirouetting  his  cap  on  the  point  of  his  boot,  half 
for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  that  he  had  actually  a 
boot  upon  his  foot,  and  half  to  intimate  to  all 
concerned  that  he  has  not  become  proud  and 
haughty  because  of  the  fact.  The  good  lady 
was  much  surprised  by  that  small  boy's  action, 
and  has  a  poorer  opinion  than  ever  of  the  "  lower 
orders." 

She  is  now  sure  that  there  must  be  some  very 
careful  grading  in  heaven  before  it  can  be  a  com- 
fortable place  of  permanent  residence.  Her  idea 
of  doing  good  has  always  been  to  go  through  the 
houses  of  the  poor  with  the  gracious  hauteur  of  a 
visitant  from  another  and  a  better  world,  and  to 
scatter  broadcast  largesse  of  tracts  and  good 
advice.  The  most  pleasant  way  of  doing  this, 
she  finds,  is  from  a  carriage,  for  some  of  the 
indigent  have  a  way  of  saying  most  unpleasant 
things  ;  but  a  pair  of  spanking  bays  can  sweep 
away  from    all    expressions  of  opinion.     Besides, 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  CLEG  KELLY.         183 

tracts  delivered  in  this  way  bring  with  them  a 
sense  of  proper  inferiority  as  coming  from  one 
who  would  say,  "There,  take  that,  you  poor 
wicked  people,  and  may  it  do  you  good  ! "  Cleg 
Kelly  was  "  again'  tracks."  But  after  a  single 
moment  of  stupefied  surprise  that  this  woman 
should  insult  him,  he  rushed  for  the  tract.  The 
lady  smiled  at  his  eagerness,  and  pointed  out  to 
her  companion,  a  poor  lady  whose  duty  it  was 
to  agree  with  her  mistress,  the  eager  twinkling 
eyes  and  flushed  face  of  Cleg  as  he  pursued  the 
bays.  Cleg  at  short  distances  could  beat  any 
pair  of  horses  in  Edinburgh.  He  had  not  raced 
with  bobbies  and  fire-engines  for  nothing.  He 
was  in  fine  training,  and  just  as  the  carriage 
slackened  to  turn  past  the  immense  conglomerate 
castle  which  guards  the  St.  Leonard's  Park  en- 
trance. Cleg  shot  up  to  the  side  at  which  his 
benefactor  sat.  He  swiftly  handed  her  a  parcel, 
and  so  vanished  from  the  face  of  the  earth.  There 
is  no  safer  hiding  place  than  the  coal -waggons  full 
and  empty  that  stand  in  thousands  just  over  the 
wall.  The  good  lady  opened  the  little  parcel  with 
her  usual  complaisance.  It  was  her  own  tract,  and 
it  contained  a  small  selection  of  articles — the  staple 
product,  indeed,  of  the  Pleasance  ash-baskets — im- 
primis, one  egg-shell  filled  with  herring  bones,  item 


i84         THE  PROGRESS  OF  CLEG  KELLY. 

— a  cabbage  top  in  fine  gamey  condition,  the  head 
of  a  rat  some  time  deceased,  and  the  tail  of  some 
other  animal  so  worn  by  age  as  to  make  identifi- 
cation uncertain.  On  the  top  lay  the  dirtiest  of 
all  scrawls.  It  said,  "  With  thanks  for  yer  traks** 
The  lady  fell  back  on  her  cushions  so  heavily  that 
the  C  springs  creaked,  and  the  poor  companion 
groped  frantically  for  the  smelling-bottle.  She 
knew  that  she  would  have  a  dreadful  time  of  it 
that  night  ;  but  her  mistress  has  resolved  that  she 
will  distribute  no  more  tracts  from  her  carriage, 
the  lower  orders  may  just  be  left  to  perish.  Their 
blood  be  on  their  own  heads  ;  she  has  once  and 
for  all  washed  her  hands  of  them. 

Many  people  may  be  of  opinion  that  Cleg 
Kelly,  judging  by  his  first  exploit  this  Friday 
morning  of  which  we  speak,  had  not  advanced  very 
far  along  the  narrow  way  of  righteousness  ;  but 
this  was  not  Cleg's  own  opinion.  He  felt  that 
he  had  done  a  good  deed,  and  he  said  within  him- 
self, "  Them  ould  women  dae  mair  ill  wi'  their 
tracks  than  twa  penny  gaffs  an'  a  side-show ! " 

Then  Cleg  Kelly  went  on  to  his  next  busi- 
ness.  It  had  to  do  with  keeping  the  fifth  com- 
mandment. He  had  heard  about  it  the  Sunday 
before,  not  at  the  forsaken  Hunker  Court,  but  at 
a  Uttle  class  for  boys  at  the  foot  of  the  Pleasance, 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  CLEG  KELLY.         185 

in  a  court  there,  which  his  teacher,  Miss  Celie 
Tennant,  was  organising  for  lads  of  Cleg's  age 
or  a  little  older.  It  was  a  daring  undertaking  for 
one  so  young,  and  all  her  friends  tried  to  stop  her, 
and  called  it  foolhardy  ;  but  Celie  Tennant  being, 
as  Cleg  admiringly  said,  "  no'  big,  but  most 
michty  plucky,"  had  found  out  her  power  in 
managing  the  most  rebellious  larrikins  that  walked 
on  hobnails.  Moreover,  the  work  had  sought  her, 
not  she  it.  Her  praises  had  been  so  constantly 
chanted  by  Cleg  that  she  had  been  asked  to 
take  pity  on  a  number  of  the  "  Sooth  Back  gang," 
anc"  have  a  class  for  them  in  the  evenings.  It  was 
manifestly  impossible  to  receive  such  a  number  of 
wild  loons  at  Hunker  Court.  They  were  every 
one  upon  terms  of  open  war  with  the  Gifford 
Park  train-bands ;  and  had  a  couple  of  them 
showed  their  faces  in  the  neighbourhood  at  any 
hour  of  the  day  or  night,  the  "  Cooee-EE "  of 
the  Park  would  have  sounded,  and  fists  and  brick- 
bats would  have  been  going  in  a  couple  of  shakes. 
Clearly,  then,  as  they  could  not  come  to  her 
without  breaking  her  Majesty's  peace,  it  was  her 
duty  to  go  to  them.  To  do  them  justice,  they 
were  quite  willing  to  risk  it ;  but  Celie  felt  that  it 
would  hardly  be  doing  herself  justice  to  sow  her 
seed   so   very   near   to  the   fowls  of  the  air.     So 


i86         THE  PROGRESS  OF  CLEG  KELLy. 

Cleg  proudly  took  his  friend  down  to  the 
"  Sooth  Back,"  where  there  was  a  kind-hearted 
watchman  who  had  occasionally  let  Cleg  sleep 
in  some  warm  place  about  the  "  works  "  at  which 
he  was  on  night  duty.  To  him  Miss  Tennant  was 
introduced,  and  by  him  was  taken  into  the  presence 
of  the  junior  partner,  who  was  sitting  in  a  very 
easy  attitude  indeed,  with  his  back  against  his  desk, 
and  balancing  himself  precariously  on  one  leg  of 
a  stool.  He  effected  a  descent  successfully,  and 
blushed  becomingly,  for  he  was  a  very  junior 
partner  indeed,  and  he  had  more  than  once  met 
Miss  Tennant  at  a  West-end  evening  party.  But 
when  Miss  Celie,  infinitely  self-possessed,  stated 
her  business  in  clear-cut  accents  of  maidenly  re- 
serve, the  Very  Junior  Partner  instantly  mani- 
fested almost  too  great  an  interest  in  the  concern, 
and  offered  the  use  of  a  disused  store-room  where 
there  was  a  good  fireplace. 

"  I  shall  see  to  it.  Miss  Tennant,"  he  said,  "that 
there  is  a  fire  for  you  there  whenever  you  wish  to 
use  the  room." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Iverach,"  returned  Celie,  with 
just  the  proper  amount  of  gratitude,  "  but  I  would 
not  dream  of  troubling  you.  One  of  my  boys 
will  do  that." 

The  Very  Junior  would  have  liked  to  say  that 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  CLEG  KELLY.         187 

he  did  not  consider  it  quite  the  thing  for  a  young 
lady  to  be  in  the  purlieus  of  the  "  Sooth  Back  " 
after  nightfall.  Indeed,  he  would  have  been  glad 
to  offer  his  escort ;  but  he  did  not  say  so,  for  he 
was  a  very  nice  Junior  Partner  indeed,  and  his 
ingenuous  blush  was  worth  a  fortune  to  him  as  a 
certificate  of  character.  He  therefore  contented 
himself  with  saying : 

"  If  there  is  anything  that  I  can  do  for  you,  you 
will  always  be  good  enough  to  let  me  know." 

Celie  Tennant  thanked  him,  and  gave  him  her 
hand.  He  came  as  far  as  the  street  with  her,  but 
did  not  offer  to  see  her  home.  He  was  no  fool, 
though  so  Very  Junior  a  Partner. 

Celie  Tennant  established  her  night-school  in 
the  Sooth  Back  with  Cleg  Kelly  as  her  man 
Friday.  Cleg  showed  at  once  a  great  faculty 
for  organisation,  and  he  added  the  function  of 
police  to  his  other  duties.  On  the  principle  of 
"  Set  a  thief,"  &c.,  he  ought  to  have  made  the 
best  of  policemen,  and  so  he  did.  He  was  not 
by  any  means  the  biggest  or  the  heaviest,  but  he 
had  far  more  wild-cat  in  him  than  any  of  his  mates. 
Once  he  had  taken  the  gully  on  the  Salisbury 
Crags  on  his  way  to  safety,  when  he  was  too  much 
pressed  by  force  of  circumstances  to  go  round  the 
ordinary   way ;    and   it   was   quite    an   every-day 


1 88  THE  PROGRESS  OF  CLEG  KELLY. 

habit  of  his  to  call  upon  his  friends  by  way  of  the 
roof  and  the  sky-lights  therein. 

Celie  Tennant  was  opening  her  night-school  this 
Friday  evening,  and  Cleg  Kelly  was  on  his  way 
thither  to  get  the  key  from  the  porter,  his  good 
friend  at  most  times.  He  knew  where  there  was 
an  old  soap-box  which  would  make  rare  kindling, 
and  he  had  a  paraffin  cask  also  in  his  mind, 
though  as  yet  he  had  not  made  any  inquiries  as 
to  the  ownership  of  this  latter.  On  his  way  he 
rushed  up  to  the  seldom-visited  garret  that  was 
the  domicile  of  his  parent,  Mr.  Timothy  Kelly, 
when  he  came  out  of  gaol.  During  these  intervals 
Cleg  withdrew  himself  from  night  quarters,  only 
occasionally  reconnoitring  the  vicinity,  if  he  wanted 
any  of  his  hid  treasures  very  keenly.  He  had  as 
many  as  twenty  "  hidie-holes  "  in  the  floor,  walls, 
eaves,  and  roof  of  the  wretched  dwelling  that  was 
his  only  home.  Some  of  these  his  father  frequently 
broke  into,  and  scattered  his  poor  horde,  con- 
fiscating the  coppers,  and  sending  the  other 
valuables  through  the  glassless  windows,  but  on 
the  whole  Cleg  could  beat  his  parent  at  the 
game  of  hide-and-seek.  When  the  evening  came, 
however,  Cleg  hovered  in  the  neighbourhood 
till  he  saw  whether  his  father  went  straight 
from  his  lair,  growling  and  grumbling,  to  Hare's 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  CLEG  KELLY.  189 

Public,  or  remained  in  bed  on  the  floor  with 
certain  curious  implements  around  him.  If  the 
latter  were  the  case,  Cleg  vanished,  and  was 
seen  no  more  in  the  neighbourhood  for  some 
days,  because  he  knew  well  that  his  father  was 
again  qualifying  for  her  Majesty's  hospitality,  and 
that  was  a  business  he  always  declined  to  be 
mixed  up  in.  He  knew  that  his  father  would  in 
all  probability  be  "  lagged  "  by  the  morrow's  morn. 
Cleg  hoped  that  he  would  be,  and  the  longer 
sentence  his  father  got  the  better  pleased  his  son 
was.  Once  when  Timothy  Kelly  got  six  months 
for  house-breaking,  a  small  boy  was  ignominiously 
expelled  from  the  back  benches  of  the  court 
for  saying,  "  Hip,  Hooray."  It  was  Cleg.  His 
father,  however,  heard,  and  belted  him  for  it 
unmercifully  when  he  came  out,  saying  between 
every  stroke  and  bound,  *  Take  that,  ye  sorra  ! 
Was  it  for  this  I  brought  yez  up,  ye  spalpeen  o' 
the  worrld  ?  An'  me  at  all  the  trubble  an'  expinse 
av  yer  rearin' — you  to  cry  "  hooroosh  "  when  yer 
own  father  got  a  sixer  in  quod.  Be  me  conscience 
an'  sleeve-buttons,  but  I'd  be  dooin'  my  duty  but 
poorly  by  Father  Brady  an'  the  Tim  Command- 
ments if  I  didn't  correct  }  ez  ! "  , 
So  nobody  could  say  that  Cieg  was  not  well 
brought  up. 


I90         THE  PROGRESS  OF  CLEG  KELLY. 

If,  however,  Cleg  saw  his  father  take  the 
straight  road  for  the  Public,  he  knew  that  there 
was  still  a  shot  in  the  old  man's  locker,  and  that 
there  were  enough  of  the  "  shiners  for  another 
booze,"  as  it  was  expressed  classically  in  these 
parts.  He  betook  himself  to  his  own  devices, 
therefore,  till  closing  time  ;  but  about  eleven 
o'clock  he  began  to  haunt  the  vicinity  of  Hare's, 
and  to  peep  within  whenever  the  door  opened. 
On  one  occasion  he  opened  the  door  himself,  and 
nearly  got  his  head  broken  with  the  pound  weight 
that  came  towards  it.  They  did  not  stand  on  cere- 
mony with  small  boys  in  that  beershop.  They 
knocked  them  down,  and  then  inquired  their  errand 
aiterwards.     The  landlord  came  from  Jedburgh. 

When  his  father  came  out  of  the  Public,  Cleg 
saw  him  home  in  original  fashion.  He  had  a 
curiously  shaped  stick  which  he  employed  on  these 
occasions.  It  was  the  fork  of  a  tree  that  he  had 
got  from  a  very  kind  builder  of  the  neighbour- 
hood whose  name  was  Younger.  This  stick  was 
only  produced  at  such  times,  and  the  police  of 
the  district,  men  with  children  of  their  own, 
and  a  kindly  blind  eye  towards  Cleg's  ploys 
when  not  too  outrageous,  did  not  interfere  with 
his  manifestations  of  filial  piety.  Indeed,  it  was 
none  such  a  pleasant  job  to  take  Tim  Kelly  to  the 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  CLEG  KELL  Y.  191 

lock-up,  even  with  "  The  Twist  "  on  him,  and  Cleg 
harassing  the  official  rear  with  his  crooked  stick. 
So  they  generally  let  the  father  and  son  alone, 
though  every  now  and  then  some  energetic  young 
man,  new  to  the  district,  interfered.  He  did  it  just 
once 

Having  seen  his  father  safely  into  Hare's, 
Cleg  went  down  the  Pleasance  with  a  skip  and 
a  jump  to  light  his  fire.  He  found  another  boy 
haling  off  his  soap-box.  Cleg  threw  a  "  paver " 
to  halt  him,  much  as  a  privateer  throws  a  shot 
athwart  the  bows  of  a  prize  as  a  signal  to  slacken 
speed.  The  boy  turned  instantly,  but  seeing 
Cleg  coming  with  the  swiftness  of  the  wind,  and 
his  conscience  telling  him  that  he  could  make  good 
no  claim  to  the  soap-box  ;  knowing,  moreover, 
that  Cleg  Kelly  could  "  lick  him  into  shivereens," 
he  abandoned  his  prize  and  took  to  his  heels, 
pausing  at  a  safe  distance  to  bandy  epithets  and 
information  as  to  ancestors  with  Cleg.  But  Cleg 
marched  off  without  a  word,  which  annoyed  the 
other  boy  much  more  than  the  loss  of  the  box.  That 
was  the  fortune  of  war,  but  what  would  happen  if 
Cleg  Kelly  took  to  getting  proud.  He  stood  a 
moment  in  thought.  A  light  broke  on  him.  Cleg 
had  a  pair  of  boots  with  a  shine  on  them.  He  had 
it    That  was  the  reason  of  this  aristocratic  reserve. 


192         THE  PROGRESS  OF  CLEG  KELL  Y. 

The  lads  who  came  to  the  class  first  that  night 
were  few  and  evil.  The  bulk  of  the  better  boys  were 
working  in  shoe  factories  in  the  suburbs,  and  could 
not  get  there  at  seven.  That  was  a  full  hour  too 
early  for  them,  and  the  lads  who  arrived  were  there 
simply  "on  for  a  lark."  But  they  did  not  know 
Miss  Cecilia  Tennant,  and  they  had  reckoned  with- 
out Mr.  C.  Kelly,  who  had  resolved  that  he  would 
be  hawk  to  their  larks.  The  half-dozen  louts  sat 
lowering  and  leering  in  the  neat  and  clean  store- 
room in  which  the  Very  Young  Partner,  Mr. 
Donald  Iverach,  had  arranged  with  his  own  hand  a 
chair,  a  table,  and  a  good  many  forms,  which  he  had 
been  at  the  expense  of  sending  the  porter  to  buy 
from  the  founder  of  a  bankrupt  sect  who  lately  had 
had  a  meeting-house  left  on  his  hand.  The  Very 
Youngest  was  prepared  to  say  that  he  had  "found" 
these  lying  about  the  premises,  had  he  been  ques- 
tioned about  the  matter.  And  so  he  had,  but  the 
porter  had  put  them  there  first.  But  Celie  Ten- 
nant took  what  the  gods  had  sent  her,  and  asked 
no  questions ;  though,  not  being  simpler  than  other 
young  women  of  her  determination  of  character, 
she  had  her  own  ideas  as  to  where  they  came 
from.  Celie  asked  the  company  to  stand  up  as  she 
entered,  which  with  some  nudging  and  shuffling 
they  did  whereupon  she  astounded  them  by  shaking 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  CLEG  KELLY.  193 

hands  with  them.  This  set  them  rather  on  their 
beam-ends  for  a  moment,  and  they  did  not  recover 
any  power  for  mischief  till  Celie  asked  them  to 
close  their  eyes  during  prayer.  Standing  up  at 
her  desk,  she  folded  her  little  hands  and  closed  her 
own  eyes  to  ask  the  God  whom  she  tried  to  serve 
(surely  a  different  God  from  the  one  whom  the 
tract-scattering  woman  worshipped),  to  aid  her 
and  help  the  lads.  Cleg  Kelly  watched  her  with 
adoring  eyes.  He  had  heard  of  the  angels.  She 
had  often  told  him  about  them,  but  he  privately 
backed  his  teacher  against  the  best  of  them.  When 
Celie  opened  her  eyes  no  one  was  visible  save 
Cleg,  who  stood  with  his  eyes  aflame.  The  class 
had  vanished. 

"  The  dirty  bliggards  ;"  said  Cleg,  the  tongue  of 
his  father  coming  back  to  him  in  his  excitement, 
"  I'll  bring  them  up  to  the  scratch  by  the  scruff  av 
their  impident  necks  !  " 

So  he  darted  underneath  the  forms,  and  shortly 
reappeared  with  a  couple  of  much  bigger  boys 
clinging  on  to  him,  and  belabouring  him  with  all 
their  might.  Wresting  himself  clear  for  a  moment, 
Cleg  dashed  up  the  green  blind  which  covered 
the  small  single-pane  window  in  the  gable,  and 
turned  to  bay.  The  two  whom  he  had  brought  up 
from  the  depths  made  a  dash  at  him  as  he  passed, 


194         THE  PROGRESS  OF  CLEG  KELLY. 

overturned  the  teacher's  table  in  their  eagerness  to 
prevent  him  from  getting  to  the  door;  but  it  was 
not  the  door  that  Cleg  wanted  to  reach.  It  was 
'his  crook,  which  he  had  cunningly  hitched  to  the 
back  of  the  teacher's  chair.  With  that  he  turned 
valiantly  to  bay,  making  the  table  a  kind  of  forti- 
fication. 

"  Sit  down,  Miss,"  he  said,  reassuringly ;  "  I'll  do 
for  them,  shure." 

At  this  moment  the  outer  door  opened,  and  his 
friend,  the  night-watchman,  arrived  armed  with  a 
formidable  stick,  the  sight  of  which,  and  the  know- 
ledge that  they  were  trapped,  took  all  the  tucker 
out  of  these  very  cowardly  young  men. 

"  It  was  only  a  bit  of  fun,  Cleg ! "  they  whined. 

"  Get  out  av  this ! "  shouted  Cleg,  dancing  in 
his  fury  ;  and  out  of  this  they  got,  the  watchman's 
stick  doing  its  duty  as  they  passed,  and  his  dog 
hanging  determinedly  on  to  their  ankles. 

What  surprised  them  most  was  a  sudden  and 
unexpected  hoist  they  each  received,  apparently 
from  the  door  of  the  yard,  which  deposited  them 
on  the  street  with  their  systems  considerably  jarred. 
The  Very  Junior  Partner  smiled  thoughtfully  as  he 
rubbed  his  toe.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he 
wished  that  he  had  worn  boots  both  larger  and 
heavier.      "But    'twill    sufifice,    'twill    serve!"   he 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  CLEG  KELL  Y.         195 

quoted,  as  he  turned  away  into  his  office  ;  for,  by  a 
strange  coincidence,  he  was  working  late  that  night. 
The  Senior  Partner  knew  that  he  had  given  up  an 
engagement  to  go  to  a  dance  that  evening  in  order 
to  work  up  some  business  that  had  been  lying 
over.     He  rubbed  his  hands  delightedly,         ..> 

"  Donald  is  taking  to  the  business  at  last,"  he 
told  his  wife  as  they  prepared  for  bed. 

Celie  had  taken  no  part  in  this  scene,  but  she 
was  far  too  energetic  and  fearless  a  young  woman 
to  remain  long  quiescent.  She  went  round  the 
benches,  and  as  she  came  in  sight  of  each  grovelling 
lout  she  ordered  him  to  get  up,  and,  abashed  and 
cowed,  they  rose  one  by  one  to  their  feet.  The 
dust  of  the  floor  had  made  no  apparent  change  in 
their  original  disarray.  They  stood  grinning  help- 
lessly and  inanely,  like  yokels  before  a  show  at  a 
country  fair  ;  but  there  was  no  heart  in  their  affec- 
tation of  mirth.  The  discomfiture  of  their  com- 
rades, and  the  sound  of  the  watchman's  oak  "rung" 
had  been  too  much  for  them.  Then,  for  five  lively 
minutes,  Miss  Cecilia's  tongue  played  like  lambent 
lightning  about  their  ears,  and  they  visibly  wilted 
before  her. 

It  was  now  eight  o'clock,  and  the  genuine  mem- 
bers of  the  class  began  to  put  in  an  appearance, 
and   each  of  them  was  welcomed  with    the  most 


196  THE  PROGRESS  OF  CLEG  KELLY. 

friendly  of  greetings  from  the  teacher  :  and  as  each 
passed,  Cleg's  left  eyelid  drooped  suddenly  upon 
his  cheek,  so  decorously  that  no  one  could  call  it 
a  wink.  The  four  malcontents  moved  for  the  door, 
but  the  clear  voice  of  Miss  Tennant  brought  them 
to  a  stand. 

"  Sit  down,  all  of  you,  and  speak  to  me  at  the 
close  of  the  class." 

So  they  sat  down,  being  well  aware  that  they 
had  not  a  sympathiser  in  the  room.  It  had  been 
their  intention  to  "  raise  a  dust  "  before  the  arrival 
of  the  factory  brigade,  and  then  to  get  clear  off; 
and,  barring  Cleg  Kelly,  they  would  have  done  it. 
Cleg  did  not  yet  go  to  the  factory,  for  the  manager 
would  not  believe  that  he  was  thirteen,  though 
Cleg  had  told  him  so  times  without  number ;  he 
had  even  on  one  occasion  stretched  a  point  and  as 
vainly  tried  fourteen.  Cleg  Kelly  went  to  school 
ever  since  he  became  a  reformed  character ;  but 
not  every  day,  so  as  to  prevent  the  teacher  from 
becoming  too  conceited.  However,  he  looked  in 
occasionally  when  he  had  nothing  better  to  do.  If 
he  were  cold  when  he  entered,  in  about  half  an  hour 
he  was  quite  warm. 

What  Celie  Tennant  said  to  these  four  louts  will 
never  be  known — they  have  never  told  ;  but  it  is 
sufficient  to  say  that  they  became  pillars   of  the 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  CLEG  KELLY.         197 

"Sooth    Back"    Mission   and   Night   School,   and 
needed  no  more  attention  than  any  of  the  others. 

The  Very  Junior  Partner  and  Cleg  Kelly  both 
saw  home  the  teacher  that  night,  walking  close 
together  ;  though,  of  course,  entirely  ignoring 
each  other,  each  some  hundred  yards  behind  Miss 
Tennant,  who  walked  serene  in  the  consciousness  of 
lonely  courage,  her  roll-book  in  one  hand  and  her 
skirt  daintily  held  in  the  other,  walking  with  that 
charming  side-swing  which  both  her  escorts  thought 
adorable.  They  did  not  communicate  this  to  each 
other.  On  the  contrary,  Cleg  took  a  "gob"  of 
hard  mud  in  his  hand,  and  stood  a  moment  in 
doubt,  dividing  the  swift  mind,  whether  or  no  to 
"  bust  the  swell's  topper  in."  But  a  consciousness 
of  the  excellence  of  that  young  man's  intentions 
preserved  the  shiny  crown  which  it  had  cost  a 
shilling  to  have  ironed  that  morning  at  the  Shop- 
up-three-Steps  at  the  corner  of  the  North  Bridge. 
The  Very  Junior  liked  to  go  spruce  to  business. 

On  his  return  to  the  yard.  Cleg  Kelly  found 
that  his  day's  work  was  not  yet  done.  One  of 
his  special  chums  came  to  tell  him  that  "  Hole 
i'  the  Wa',"  the  biggest  of  the  louts  first  expelled, 
was  thirsting  for  his  blood,  and  had  dared  him  to 
fight  him  that  very  night.  Now,  had  Cleg  been 
more  advanced  in  reformation,  he  would  of  course 


rgS  THE  PROGRESS  OF  CLEG  KELL  V. 

have  refused,  and  given  his  voice  for  peace  ;  but 
then,  you  see,  he  was  only  a  beginner.  He  sent 
his  friend  to  tell  "  Hole  i'  the  Wa' "  that  he  would 
wait  for  him  in  the  "  Polissman's  Yard."  This  was 
a  court  at  the  back  of  a  police  station  in  the 
vicinity,  which  could  only  be  entered  by  a  low 
"  pend "  or  vaulted  passage,  though  commanded 
from  above  by  the  high  windows  of  the  station- 
house.  It  had  long  been  a  great  idea  of  Cleg's 
to  have  a  battle  royal  under  the  very  nose  of  the 
constituted  authority  of  the  city.  Thither  he  re- 
sorted, and  in  a  little  a  crowd  of  his  friends  and 
his  foes  followed  him,  all  protesting  that  he  could 
not  mean  to  fight  fair  so  near  to  the  "  bobbies' " 
abode.  But  Cleg  unfolded  his  scheme,  which 
instantly  placed  him  on  the  giddy  apex  of  popu- 
larity. He  got  them  to  roll  a  heavy  barrel  which 
stood  in  one  corner  of  the  yard  into  the  "  pend," 
which  it  almost  completely  blocked  up,  and  he 
himself  fixed  it  in  position  with  some  of  the  great 
iron  curved  shods  which  the  lorrymen  used  to  stop 
their  coal  waggons  on  the  steep  streets  of  the  south- 
side.  It  stood  so  firm  that  nothing  short  of  dyna- 
mite could  have  shifted  it. 

The  fight  proceeded,  but  into  its  details  we  need 
not  enter.  It  was  truly  Homeric.  Cleg  flitted 
here  and  there  like  the  active  insect  from  which 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  CLEG  KELLY.         199 

he  got  his  name,  and  stung  wherever  he  could  get 
an  opening.  The  shouts  of  the  spectators  might 
have  been  heard  in  that  still  place  for  the  better 
part  of  a  mile,  and  in  a  few  minutes  all  the  police 
who  were  on  duty  were  thundering  on  the  barrel, 
and  all  those  who  had  been  in  bed  manned  the 
windows  in  dishabille,  and  threatened  the  comba- 
tants and  spectators  by  name. 

Cleg  Kelly,  dancing  ever  more  wildly  round 
his  adversary,  revolving  his  fists  like  the  spokes  of 
a  bicycle,  shouted  defiance, 

"Come  on,  Hole,"  he  cried,  "ye're  no'  worth 
a  buckie  at  fechtin  1 "  and  as  he  circled  near  the 
"  pend,"  and  heard  the  heaves  of  the  labouring 
officers  of  justice,  he  called  out :  "  You,  Lang- 
shanks,  cast  yer  coat  an'  crawl  through  the  bung  ; 
ye  micht  ken  that  the  sergeant's  ower  fat.  Hae  ye 
nae  sense  ? " 

There  was  laughter  aloft  in  the  station  windows. 
But  somebody  at  the  outside  had  brought  a  sledge 
hammer,  and  at  the  first  blow  the  barrel  resolved 
itself  into  its  component  staves,  and  the  police 
tumbled  in,  falling  headlong  over  Cleg's  waggon 
clamps. 

Then  there  was  a  wild  scurry  of  the  lads  up  the 
piles  of  casks  and  rubbish  at  the  back  of  the  yard, 
and  over  the  outhouses  and  roofs.     Cleg  was  not 


200  THE  PROGRESS  OF  CLEG  KELLY. 

first  in  getting  away,  but  he  had  studied  the 
locality,  and  he  had  his  plans  cut  and  dried.  He 
would  have  been  ashamed  to  have  been  caught 
now  that  he  was  on  his  way  to  be  a  reformed 
character.  In  half  an  hour  he  was  waiting  with 
crooked  stick  to  "boost"  his  father  home  when 
he  was  duly  cast  out  of  Hare's  Public  at  the 
stroke  of  eleven  as  the  completed  produce  of  that 
establishment. 

So  in  due  time,  and  with  many  hard  words  from 
Timothy,  they  neared  the  den  which  they  called 
home.  At  the  foot  of  the  long  stair  Timothy  Kelly 
lay  down  with  the  grunt  of  a  hog,  and  refused  to 
move  or  speak.  He  would  arise  for  no  punchings, 
however  artistic,  with  the  knobbiest  portions  of  the 
stick,  and  Cleg  paused,  for  the  first  time  that  day, 
almost  in  despair.  A  policeman  came  round  the 
corner,  flashing  the  light  of  his  bull's-eye  right  and 
left.  Cleg's  heart  stood  still.  It  was  the  lengthy 
officer  whom  he  had  called  "  Langshanks,"  and 
invited  to  come  through  the  bung.  He  feared  that 
he  was  too  kenspeckle  to  escape.  He  went  over 
to  him,  and  taking  a  tug  at  his  hair,  which  meant 
manners,  said  : 

"  Please,  officer,  will  ye  gie  me  a  lift  up  the  stair 
wi'  my  faither  ?  " 

The  policeman  whistled  a  long.,  low  whistle,  and 
laughed. 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  CLEG  KELLY.         201 

"  Officer  ! "  says  he,  "  Officer  !  Be  the  powers, 
'twas  '  Langshanks  '  ye  called  me  the  last  time,  ye 
thief  o'  the  wurrld  ! "  said  the  man,  who  was  of 
national  kin  to  Cleg. 

So  they  twain  helped  their  compatriot  unsteadily 
to  his  den  at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  ,-* 

"  Ye're  the  cheekiest  young  shaver  I  ivver  saw," 
said  Longshanks,  admiringly,  as  he  turned ;  "  but 
there's  some  good  in  yez  !  " 

Cleg  Kelly  locked  the  door  on  the  outside,  said 
his  prayers  like  the  reformed  character  that  he 
was,  and  laid  him  down  on  the  mat  to  sleep  the 
sleep  of  the  just.  The  Junior  Partner  always  saw 
Miss  Tennant  home  after  this.  He  calls  her 
"  Celie  "  now.  She  has  been  meaning  to  tell  him 
for  the  last  month  that  he  must  not  do  so  any 
more. 


ENSAMPLES    TO    THE    FLOCK, 

The  family  of  the  late  Tyke  M'Lurg  consisted  of 
three  loons  and  a  lassie.  Tyke  had  never  done 
anything  for  his  children  except  share  with  a  short- 
lived and  shadowy  mother  the  responsibility  of 
bringing  them  into  the  world.  The  time  that  he 
could  spare  from  his  profession  of  poacher,  he  had 
systematically  devoted  to  neglecting  them.  Tyke 
had  solved  successfully  for  many  years  the  problem 
of  how  to  live  by  the  least  possible  expenditure  of 
labour.  Kind  ladies  had  taken  him  in  hand  time  and 
again.  They  had  provided  clothes  for  his  children, 
which  Tyke  had  primarily  converted  into  coin  of 
the  realm,  and  indirectly  into  liquid  refreshment,  at 
Lucky  Morgan's  rag  store  in  Cairn  Edward.  Work 
had  been  found  for  Tyke,  and  he  had  done  many 
half  days  of  labour  in  various  gardens.  Unfor- 
tunately, however,  before  the  hour  of  noon,  it  was 
Tyke's  hard  case  to  be  taken  with  a  "  grooin'  in  his 
inside"  of  such  a  nature  that  he  became  rapidly 
incapacitated  for  further  work. 


ENSAMPLES  TO  THE  FLOCK.  203 

"  No,  mem,  I  canna  tak'  it  It's  mony  a  year 
since  I  saw  the  evil  o't.  Ye'll  hae  to  excuse  me, 
but  I  really  couldna.  Oh,  thae  pains  !  O  sirce, 
my  inside !  Weel,  gin  ye  insist,  I'll  juist  hae  to  try 
a  toothfu'  to  obleege  ye,  like." 

But  Tyke's  toothfu's  were  over  for  this  world, 
and  his  shortcomings  were  lying  under  four  feet  of 
red  mould.  Half  a  dozen  kindly  folk  who  pitied 
his  ''three  loons  and  a  lassie"  gathered  a  few 
pounds  and  gave  him  a  decent  burial,  not  for  his 
own  sake,  but  in  order  that  the  four  little  scarecrows 
might  have  a  decent  start  in  life.  It  is  the  most 
fatal  and  indestructible  of  reproaches  in  the  south 
of  Scotland  to  have  a  father  buried  by  the  parish. 

The  lassie  was  the  eldest  of  the  children.  She 
was  thirteen,  and  she  hardly  remembered  what  it 
was  to  have  a  mother  or  a  new  frock.  But  ever 
since  she  was  eleven  she  had  never  had  a  dirty  one. 
The  smith's  wife  had  shown  her  how  to  wash,  and 
she  had  learned  from  the  teacher  how  to  mend. 
"  Leeb"  had  appeared  on  the  books  of  the  school  as 
Elizabeth  M'Lurg,  and  she  had  attended  as  often 
as  she  could — that  is,  as  often  as  her  father  could 
not  prevent  her;  for  Tyke,  being  an  independent 
man,  was  down  on  the  compulsory  clause  of  the 
Education  Act,  and  had  more  than  once  got  thirty 
days  for  assaulting  the  School  Board  officer. 


204  ENSAMPLES  TO  THE  FLOCK. 

When  he  found  out  that  Leeb  was  attending 
school  at  the  village,  he  lay  in  wait  for  her  on  her 
return,  with  a  stick,  and  after  administering  chastise- 
ment on  general  principles,  he  went  on  to  specify 
his  daughter's  iniquities  : 

"  Ye  upsettin'  blastie,  wad  ye  be  for  gangin*  to 
their  schule,  learnin'  to  look  doon  on  yer  ain  faither 
that  has  been  at  sic  pains  to  rear  ye  " — (a  pause  for 
further  correction,  to  which  poor  Leeb  vocalised  an 
accompaniment).  "  Let  me  see  gin  ye  can  read  ! 
Hae,  read  that !  "  he  said,  flinging  a  tattered  lesson 
book,  which  the  teacher  had  given  her,  to  his 
daughter.  Leeb  opened  the  book,  and,  punctuating 
the  lesson  with  her  sobs,  she  read  in  the  high  and 
level  shriek  of  a  locomotive  engine,  "  And  so  brave 
Bobby,  hav-ing  sa-ved  the  tr-r-r-em-bling  child, 
re-turn-ed  with  the  res-cu-ed  one  in  his  mouth  to 
the  shore." 

"  Davert !  but  ye  can  read  ! "  said  her  father, 
snatching  the  book  and  tearing  it  up  before  her 
eyes.  "  Noo,  listen  ;  I'll  hae  nane  o'  my  bairns 
teached  to  despise  their  faither  by  no  Schule 
Boards.  Look  you  here,  Leeb  M'Lurg,  gin  ever  I 
catch  you  within  a  mile  o'  the  schule,  I'll  skin  ye ! " 

But  for  all  this  tremendous  threat,  or  maybe  all 
the  more  because  of  it,  and  also  because  she  so 
much  desired  to  be  able  to  do  a  white  seam,  Leeb 


ENSAMPLES  TO  THE  FLOCK.  205 

so  arranged  it  that  there  were  few  days  when  she 
did  not  manage  to  come  along  the  mile  and  half  of 
lochside  road  which  separated  her  from  the  little 
one-roomed,  white-washed  school-house  on  the  face 
of  the  brae.  She  even  brought  one  of  the  "  loons  " 
with  her  pretty  often  ;  but  as  Jock,  Rab,  and  Benny 
(otherwise  known  as  Rag,  Tag,  and  Bobtail)  got  a 
little  older,  they  more  easily  accommodated  them- 
selves to  the  wishes  of  their  parent  ;  and,  in  spite 
of  Leeb's  blandishments,  they  went  into  *'  hidie 
holes  "  till  the  School  Board  officer  had  passed  by. 
M'Lurg's  Mill,  where  the  children  lived,  was  a 
tumbledown  erection,  beautiful  for  situation,  set 
on  the  side  of  the  long  loch  of  Kenick.  The  house 
had  once  been  a  little  farmhouse,  its  windows 
brilliant  with  geraniums  and  verbenas  ;  but  in  the 
latter  days  of  the  forlorn  M'Lurgs  it  had  become 
betrampled  as  to  its  doorsteps  by  lean  swine,  and 
bespattered  as  to  its  broken  iloor  by  intrusive  hens. 
It  was  to  M'Lurg's  Mill  that  the  children  returned 
after  the  funeral.  Leeb  had  been  arrayed  in  the 
hat  and  dress  of  a  neighbour's  daughter  for  the 
occasion,  but  the  three  loons  had  played  "  tig  "  in 
the  intervals  of  watching  their  father's  funeral  from 
the  broomy  knoll  behind  the  mill.  Jock,  the  eldest, 
was  nearly  eleven,  and  had  been  taken  in  hand  by 
the  kind  neighbour  wife  at  the  same  time  as  Leeb. 


2o6  ENSAMPLES  TO  THE  FLOCK. 

At  one  time  he  looked  as  though  he  would  even 
better  repay  attention,  for  he  feigned  a  sleek-faced 
submission  and  a  ready  compliance  which  put 
Mistress  Auld  of  the  Arkland  off  her  guard.  Then 
as  soon  as  his  sister,  of  whom  Jock  stood  much  in 
awe,  was  gone  out,  he  snatched  up  his  ragged 
clothes  and  fled  to  the  hill.  Here  he  was  im- 
mediately joined  by  the  other  two  loons.  They 
caught  the  Arkland  donkey  grazing  in  the  field 
beside  the  mill  dam,  and  having  made  a  parcel  of 
the  good  black  trousers  and  jacket,  they  tied  them 
to  the  donkey  and  drove  him  homeward  with  blows 
and  shoutings.  A  funeral  was  only  a  dull  pro- 
cession to  them,  and  the  fact  that  it  was  their 
father's  made  no  difference. 

Next  morning  Leeb  sat  down  on  the  "  stoop  "  or 
wooden  bench  by  the  door,  and  proceeded  to  cast 
up  her  position.  Her  assets  were  not  difficult  to 
reckon.  A  house  of  two  rooms,  one  devoted  to 
hens  and  lumber  ;  a  mill  which  had  once  sawn 
good  timber,  but  whose  great  circular  saw  had 
stood  still  for  many  months  ;  a  mill-lade  broken 
down  in  several  places,  three  or  four  chairs  and  a 
stool,  a  table,  and  a  wash-tub.  When  she  got  so 
far  she  paused.  It  was  evident  that  there  could 
be  no  more  school  for  her,  and  the  thought  struck 
her  that  now  she  must  take  the  responsibility  for 


ENSAMPLES  TO  THE  FLOCK.  207 

the  boys,  and  bring  them  up  to  be  useful  and 
diligent.  She  did  not  and  could  not  so  express 
her  resolve  to  herself,  but  a  still  and  strong 
determination  was  in  her  sore  little  heart  not  to 
let  the  boys  grow  up  like  their  father. 

Leeb  had  gone  to  Sabbath  school  every  week, 
when  she  could  escape  from  the  tyranny  of  home, 
and  was,  therefore,  well  known  to  the  minister, 
who  had  often  exercised  himself  in  vain  on  the 
thick  defensive  armour  of  ignorance  and  stupidity 
which  encompassed  the  elder  M'Lurg.  His  office- 
bearers and  he  had  often  bemoaned  the  sad 
example  of  this  ne'er-do-weel  family  which  had 
entrenched  itself  in  the  midst  of  so  many  well- 
doing people.  M'Lurg's  Mill  was  a  reproach  and 
an  eyesore  to  the  whole  parish,  and  the  M'Lurg 
"weans"  a  gratuitous  insult  to  every  self-respecting 
mother  within  miles.  For  three  miles  round  the 
children  were  forbidden  to  play  with,  or  even  to 
speak  to,  the  four  outcasts  at  the  mill.  Con- 
sequently their  society  was  much  sought  after. 

When  Leeb  came  to  set  forth  her  resources,  she 
could  not  think  of  any  except  the  four-pound  loaf, 
the  dozen  hens  and  a  cock,  the  routing  wild  Indian 
of  a  pig,  and  the  two  lean  and  knobby  cows  on  the 
hill  at  the  back.  It  would  have  been  possible  to 
haves:)ld  all  these  things,  perhaps, but  Leeb  looked 


2o8  ENSAMPLES  TO  THE  FLOCK. 

upon  herself  as  trustee  for  the  rest  of  the  family 
She  resolved,  therefore,  to  make  what  use  of  them 
she  could,  and  having  most  of  the  property  under 
her  eye  at  the  time,  there  was  the  less  need  to 
indite  an  inventory  of  it 

But,  first,  she  must  bring  her  brothers  to  a  sense 
of  their  position.  She  was  a  very  Napoleon  of 
thirteen,  and  she  knew  that  now  that  there  was  no 
counter  authority  to  her  own,  she  could  bring  Jock, 
Rob,  and  Benny  to  their  senses  very  quickly.  She 
therefore  selected  with  some  care  and  attention  a 
hazel  stick,  using  a  broken  table-knife  to  cut  it 
with  a  great  deal  of  deftness.  Having  trimmed  it, 
she  went  out  to  the  hill  to  look  for  her  brothers. 
It  was  not  long  before  she  came  upon  them 
engaged  in  the  fascinating  amusement  of  rooting 
for  pignuts  in  a  green  bankside.  The  natural  Leeb 
would  instantly  have  thrown  down  her  wand  of 
office  and  joined  them  in  the  search,  but  the  Leeb 
of  to-day  was  a  very  different  person.  Her  second 
thought  was  to  rush  among  them  and  deal  lusty 
blows  with  the  stick,  but  she  fortunately  remem- 
bered that  in  that  case  they  would  scatter,  and 
that  by  force  she  could  only  take  home  one  or  at 
most  two.  She  therefore  called  to  her  assistance 
the  natural  guile  of  her  sex. 

"  Boys,  are  ye  hungry  ?  "  she  said.      **  There's 


ENSAMPLES  TO  THE  FLOCK.  209 

sic  a  graun'  big  loaf  come  frae  the  Arkland ! " 
B}'  this  time  all  her  audience  were  on  their  feet. 
"  An'  I'll  milk  the  kye,  an'  we'll  hae  a  feast." 

"  Come  on,  Jock,"  said  Rab,  the  second  loon, 
and  the  leader  in  mischief,  "  I'll  race  ye  for  the 
loaf." 

"  Ye  needna  do  that,"  said  Leeb,  calmly  ;  "  the 
door's  lockit." 

So  as  Leeb  went  along  she  talked  to  her 
brothers  as  soberly  as  though  they  were  models  of 
good  behaviour  and  all  the  virtues,  telling  them 
what  she  was  going  to  do,  and  how  she  would 
expect  them  to  help  her.  By  the  time  she  got 
them  into  the  mill  yard,  she  had  succeeded  in 
stirring  their  enthusiasm,  especially  that  of  Jock, 
to  whom  with  a  natural  tact  she  gave  the  wand 
of  the  office  of  "  sairgint,"  a  rank  which,  on  the 
authority  of  Sergeant  M'Millan,  the  village  pen- 
sioner, was  understood  to  be  very  much  higher 
than  that  of  general.  "  Sairgint "  Jock  foresaw 
much  future  interest  in  the  disciplining  of  his 
brothers,  and  entered  with  eagerness  into  the  new 
ploy.  The  out-of-doors  live  stock  was  also  com- 
mitted to  his  care.  He  was  to  drive  the  cows 
along  the  roadside  and  allow  them  to  pasture  on 
the  sweetest  and  most  succulent  grasses,  while 
Rab   scduted   in  the  direction  of  the   village  for 


2IO  ENS  AMPLE  S  TO  THE  FLOCK. 

suppositious  "  poalismen  "  who  were  understood  to 
take  up  and  sell  for  the  Queen's  benefit  all  cows 
found  eating  grass  on  the  public  highway.  Im- 
mediately after  Jock  and  Rab  had  received  a 
hunch  of  the  Arkland  loaf  and  their  covenanted 
drink  of  milk,  they  went  off  to  drive  the  cows  to 
the  loch  road,  so  that  they  might  at  once  begin  to 
fill  up  their  lean  sides.  Benny,  the  youngest,  who 
was  eight  past,  she  reserved  for  her  own  assistant. 
He  was  a  somewhat  tearful  but  willing  little  fellow, 
whose  voice  haunted  the  precincts  of  M'Lurg's 
mill  like  a  wistful  ghost  His  brothers  were  con- 
stantly running  away  from  him,  and  he  pattering 
after  them  as  fast  as  his  fat  little  legs  could  carry 
him,  roaring  with  open  mouth  at  their  cruelty,  the 
tears  making  clean  watercourses  down  his  grimy 
cheeks.  But  Benny  soon  became  a  new  boy  under 
his  sister's  exclusive  care. 

"  Noo,  Benny,"  she  said,  "  you  an'  me's  gaun 
to  clean  the  hoose.  Jock  an'  Rab  will  no'  be 
kcnnin'  it  when  they  come  back  ! "  So,  having 
filled  the  tub  with  water  from  the  mill-lade,  and 
carried  every  movable  article  of  furniture  outside, 
Leeb  began  to  wash  out  the  house  and  rid  it  of 
the  accumulated  dirt  of  years.  Benny  carried 
small  bucketfuls  of  water  to  swill  over  the  floor. 
Gradually  the  true  colour  of  the  stones  began  to 


ENSAMPLES  TO  THE  FLOCK.  21 1 

shine   up,  and  the  black    encrustation    to  retreat 
towards  the  outlying  corners. 

"  I'm  gaun  doon  to  the  village,"  she  said 
abruptly.  "  Benny,  you  keep  scrubbin'  alang  the 
wa's." 

Leeb  took  her  way  down  rapidly  to  where  Joe 
Turner,  the  village  mason,  was  standing  by  a 
newly  begun  pig-stye  or  swine-ree,  stirring  a 
heap  of  lime  and  sand. 

"G'ye  way  oot  o'  that !"  he  said  instantly,  with 
the  threatening  gesture  which  every  villager  except 
the  minister  and  the  mistress  of  Arkland  instinc- 
tively made  on  seeing  a  M'Lurg.  This  it  is  to  have 
a  bad  name. 

But  Leeb  stood  her  ground,  strong  in  the  con- 
sciousness of  her  good  intentions. 

"  Maister  Turner,"  she  said,  "  could  ye  let  me 
hae  a  bucketfu'  or  twa  o'  whitewash  for  the  mill 
kitchen,  an'  I'll  pey  ye  in  hen's  eggs.  Oor  hens 
are  layin'  fine,  an'  your  mistress  is  fond  o'  an  egg 
in  the  mornin'." 

Joe  stopped  and  scratched  his  head.  This  was 
something  new,  even  in  a  village  where  a  good  deal 
of  business  is  done  according  to  the  rules  of  truck 
or  barter. 

*'  What  are  ye  gaun  to  do  wi'  the  whitewash  } " 
he   inquired,   to  get  time  to  think.     "  There  was 


212  ENSAMPLES  TO  THE  FLOCK. 

little  whitewash  in  use  about  M'Lurg's  Mill  in  yer 
faither's  time  !" 

"  But  I'm  gaun  to  bring  up  the  boys  as  they 
should,"  said  Leeb,  with  some  natural  importance, 
sketching  triangles  on  the  ground  with  her  bare 
toe. 

"An'  what's  whitewash  got  to  do  wi'  that?" 
asked  Joe,  with  some  asperity. 

Leeb  could  not  just  put  the  matter  into  words, 
but  she  instinctively  felt  that  it  had  a  good  deal  to 
do  with  it.  Whitewash  was  her  badge  of  respect- 
ability both  inside  the  house  and  out,  in  which 
Leeb  was  at  one  with  modern  science. 

"  I'll  gie  three  dizzen  o'  eggs  for  three  bucket- 
fu's,"  she  said. 

"  An'  hoo  div  I  ken  that  I'll  ever  see  ane  o'  the 
eggs  1 "  asked  Joe. 

"  I've  brocht  a  dizzen  wi'  me  noo !  "  said 
Leeb,  promptly,  producing  them  from  under  her 
apron. 

Leeb  got  the  whitewash  that  very  night  and  the 
loan  of  a  brush  to  put  it  on  with.  Next  morning 
the  farmer  of  the  Crae  received  a  shock.  There 
was  something  large  and  white  down  on  the  loch- 
side,  where  ever  since  he  came  to  the  Crae  he  had 
seen  naething  but  the  trees  which  hid  M'Lurg's 
mill 


ENS  AMPLE  S  TO  THE  FLOCK.  213 

"  I  misdoot  it's  gaun  to  be  terrible  weather.  I 
never  saw  that  hoose  o'  Tyke  M'Lurg's  aff  our  hill 
afore  !  "  he  said. 

The  minister  came  by  that  day  and  stood  per- 
fectly aghast  at  the  new  splendours  of  the  M'Lurg 
mansion.  Hitherto  when  he  had  strangers  staying 
with  him,  he  took  them  another  way,  in  order  that 
his  parish  might  not  be  disgraced.  Not  only  were 
the  walls  of  the  house  shining  with  whitewash,  but 
the  windows  were  cleaned,  a  piece  of  white  muslin 
curtain  was  pinned  across  each,  and  a  jug  with  a 
bunch  of  heather  and  wild  flowers  looked  out  smiling 
on  the  passers  by.  The  minister  bent  his  steps  to 
the  open  door.  He  could  see  the  two  M'Lurg 
cows  pasturing  placidly  with  much  contented 
head-tossing  on  the  roadside,  while  a  small  boy 
sat  above  labouring  at  the  first  rounds  of  a 
stocking.  From  the  house  came  the  shrill  voice 
of  singing.  Out  of  the  firwood  over  the  knoll 
came  a  still  smaller  boy  bent  double  with  a  load 
of  sticks. 

In  the  window,  written  with  large  sprawling 
capitals  on  a  leaf  of  a  copy-book  under  the  head- 
ing "  Encourage  Earnest  Endeavour,"  appeared  the 
striking  legend : 


214  ENSAMPLES  TO  THE  FLOCK. 


SOWING   &   MENDING   DUN 
GOOD  COWS  MILK 

STICKS   FOR   FIREWOOD   CHEEP 
NEW   LAID   EGGS 

BY   ELIZABETH    MC  LURG 


The  minister  stood  regarding,  amazement  on  every 
line  of  his  face.  Leeb  came  out  singing,  a  neatly 
tied  bundle  of  chips  made  out  of  the  dry  debris  of 
the  saw-mill  in  her  hand. 

"  Elizabeth,"  said  he,  "  what  is  the  meaning  of 
this  ?  " 

"  Will  ye  be  pleased  to  step  ben  ?  "  said  Leeb. 
The  minister  did  so,  and  was  astonished  to  find 
himself  sitting  down  in  a  spotless  kitchen,  the 
walls  positively  painfully  white,  the  wooden  chairs 
scoured  with  sand  till  the  very  fibre  of  the  wood 
was  blanched,  and  on  a  floor,  so  clean  that  one 
might  have  dined  off  it,  the  mystic  whorls  and 
crosses  of  whiting  which  connect  all  good  Gallo- 
way housekeepers  with  Runic  times. 

Before  the  minister  went  out  of  M'Lurg's  Mill  he 


ENSAMPLES  TO  THE  FLOCK.  215 

had  learned  the  intentions  of  Leeb  to  make  men  of 
her  brothers.     He  said  : 

"  You  are  a  woman  already,  before  your  time, 
Elizabeth  !"  which  was  the  speech  of  all  others  best 
fitted  to  please  Leeb  M'Lurg.  He  had  also  ordered 
milk  and  eggs  for  the  manse  to  be  delivered  by 
Benny,  and  promised  that  his  wife  would  call  upon 
the  little  head  of  the  house. 

As  he  went  down  the  road  by  the  loch-side  he 
meditated,  and  this  was  the  substance  of  his 
thought,  "  If  that  girl  brings  up  her  brothers  like 
herself,  Tyke  M'Lurg's  children  may  yet  be  en- 
samples  to  the  flock." 

But  as  to  this  wc  shall  see 


THE    SIEGE    OF  WLURGS    MILL, 

Elizabeth  M'Lurg  had  been  over  at  the  village 
for  her  groceries.  Dressed  in  her  best— clean 
piiiafored,  lilac  sun-bonneted — she  was  a  comely 
picture.  Half  a  dozen  years  had  made  a  difference 
in  the  coltish  lassie  who  had  dragooned  her  three 
loons  of  brothers  into  decency  and  school  attend- 
ance after  her  father's  funeral.  There  was  now  not 
a  better-doing  family  in  the  parish  than  that  over 
which  the  rule  of  Leeb  M'Lurg  had  the  unques- 
tioned force  of  an  autocracy.  Leeb  had  saved 
enough  from  her  cows  and  poultry  to  employ 
Sanny  MacQuhatt,  the  travelling  millwright,  to 
put  the  old  sawmill  in  order  against  that  ap- 
proaching day  when  John  M'Lurg,  her  eldest 
brother,  would  be  out  of  his  time  at  the  shop  of 
Rob  Johnstone,  joiner  and  cartwright  in  Whunny- 
liggate.  Affairs  had  marched  well  with  the 
M'Lurgs.  Rob,  the  second,  was  still  at  school, 
but   there  was  word  of  his   getting   into  a  Cairn 

ai6 


THE  SIEGE  OF  MLURGS  MILL,  zi-j 

Edward  bank  ;  and  it  was  the  desire  of  Leeb's 
life  to  see  her  favourite  Benny  turned  into  a 
dominie.  She  had  already  spoken  to  the  minister 
about  having  him  made  a  pupil  teacher  at  the  next 
vacancy. 

Elizabeth  had  a  word  for  every  one  as  she  walked 
sedately  up  the  narrow  unpaved  street — modest 
for  the  minister,  shy  for  young  Will  Morton,  the 
teacher  of  the  village  school  where  her  brothers 
were  alternately  at  the  head  of  the  highest  class 
in  sharp  fraternal  emulation  —  no  other  pupil 
coming  within  a  mile  of  them  ;  straightforward 
with  the  women  folk,  who  came  to  their  doors  to 
look  down  the  street  every  ten  minutes  or  so  on 
the  chance  of  seeing  a  cadger,  or  even  a  red  farm 
cart,  whose  clanking  passage  might  break  the 
soundless  monotony. 

The  village  lads  would  also  cry,  "  Hoo's  a*  wi'  ye 
the  day,  Leeb  ?  "  in  an  offhand  way  which  did  not 
conceal  from  that  sharp-eyed  young  woman  their 
desire  to  stand  well  with  her. 

"  She's  the  only  lass  i'  the  parish  that  kens  hoo 
to  lift  her  feet  afif  the  grund,"  said  Saunders 
Paterson  to  Rab  Affleck,  as  they  watched  Leeb's 
progress  up  the  street 

"Ay,  man,  ye're  richt ;  there's  nae  glaur'll  [mud] 
stick  to  Leeb's  coat-tail." 


2i8  THE  SIEGE  OF  APLURGS  MILL. 

But  this  morning  many  came  to  look  after  Leeb 
M'Lurg  of  M'Lurg's  Mill  who  had  hitherto  paid 
small  attention  to  her  comings  and  goings.  For 
it  was  the  village  talk  that  Timothy  M'Lurg,  Tyke 
M'Lurg's  younger  brother,  otherwise  known  as 
"  Tim  the  Tairger,"  had  come  back,  and  had  been 
seen  and  heard  in  the  skirts  of  the  publichouse 
declaring  that  he  had  come  as  trustee  of  his 
brother  to  take  possession  of  M'Lurg's  Mill,  its 
cattle  and  sheep,  house  gear  and  bestial,  and  to 
administer  the  same  for  the  behoof  of  the  children 
of  the  departed.  It  was  a  noble  ambition,  and 
when  declared  among  the  choice  company  as- 
sembled at  the  "public,"  it  elicited  warm  com- 
mendations there,  for  Timothy  M'Lurg  had  always 
spent  other  people's  money  like  a  man. 

But  when  the  better  spirits  of  the  village  heard 
of  it,  there  were  many  who  grieved  for  the  children 
who  had  made  so  gallant  a  fight.  So  when  Eliza- 
beth M'Lurg  went  up  the  street  that  day  there 
was  many  a  one  who  watched  her  with  a  wae 
heart.  Yet  it  was  not  until  David  Clark,  the 
village  shopkeeper,  had  finished  serving  her  with 
tea  and  sugar  that  he  said  to  Leeb,  in  a  friendly 
way: 

**  I  hear  ye've  gotten  your  Uncle  Timothy  back." 

Leeb  whitened  to  the  lips  at  that  name  of  dread. 


THE  SIEGE  OF  M'LURGS  MILL.  219 

She  remembered  the  wild  nights  when  Timothy 
brought  his  companions  with  him,  and  turned  the 
little  world  of  M'Lurg's  Mill  upside  down. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  determined  not  to  show 
any  emotion  to  the  watchful  eyes  of  David  Clark, 
"  I  didna  ken." 

She  spoke  as  though  the  news  were  sojjie  ordinary 
and  unimportant  gossip. 

"  Where  has  he  come  frae  ?  "  she  asked. 

David  Clark  knew  that  he  had  come  from  a  long 
sojourn  in  her  Majesty's  prisons,  owing  to  the 
death  of  a  keeper  in  one  of  Tim's  poaching  affrays. 
But  David  was  not  a  man  to  commit  himself 
unnecessarily  when  a  well-paying  customer  was 
concerned. 

"  They  were  sayin'  that  he  was  up  aboot  the 
public,  an'  that  he  cam'  frae  Cairn  Edward  in  the 
bottom  o'  a  coal  cairt." 

Calmly  Leeb  settled  her  reckoning  with  the  eggs 
and  butter  which  she  had  brought,  and  received 
the  balance  in  good  Queen's  silver.  Calmly  she 
took  her  sedate  way  down  the  street,  no  step  dis- 
composed or  hurried.  But  in  her  heart  there  was 
a  deadly  tumult. 

Her  scheme  of  life,  so  carefully  constructed  and  so 
sturdily  worked  for,  came  tumbling  about  her  ears. 
She  had  no  idea  what  her  uncle's  powers  might  be 


220  THE  SIEGE  OF  M' EUROS  MILL. 

^whether  he  could  take  the  mill  or  claim  the 
lows.  She  only  knew  that  he  would  certainly  do 
all  the  ill  he  was  capable  of,  and  she  thought  of 
her  fortress  lying  open  and  unguarded  at  her 
enemy's  mercy,  with  only  old  Sanny  MacQuhatt 
hammering  and  grumbling  to  himself  over  the 
reconstruction  of  the  ricketty  sawmill.  As  soon  as 
she  was  clear  of  the  village  Leeb  took  to  her  heels, 
and  glinted  light  foot  through  the  poplar  avenues 
along  the  skirts  of  the  bright  June  meadows, 
where  the  hemlock  was  not  yet  overtopped  by  the 
meadow-sweet,  as  in  a  week  or  two  it  would  be. 

She  struck  across  the  hill  above  the  loch,  which 
lay  below  her  rippleless  and  azure  as  the  blue  of  a 
jay's  wing.  The  air  from  off  the  heather  was  warm 
and  honey-scented.  At  the  second  stile,  when  she 
turned  into  her  own  hill  pasture,  some  vague  fear 
struck  her  heart.  She  dared  not  take  the  first 
look  at  the  homestead  which  she  had  given  her 
young  life  to  make  worthy  of  her  vow  to  bring  up 
her  brothers  as  they  should.  As  she  set  her  foot 
on  the  lowest  stone  of  the  high,  uncouth  stile  in 
the  dry-stone  dyke  something  grunted  heavily  on 
the  other  side. 

There  was  something  so  bestially  human  and 
superfluously  degraded  in  the  noise  that  Leeb 
knew  that  it  could  not  be  produced  by  any  of  the 


THE  SIEGE  OF  APLURGS  MILL.  221 

"lower"  animals.  Gathering  her  skirts  about  her 
for  a  spring,  and  turning  up  a  supercilious  nose,  she 
peeped  over  the  top  stone  of  the  dyke.  Beneath 
her  lay  Tim  M'Lurg,  sleeping  stertorously,  with 
his  head  recumbent  on  the  lowest  step,  by  which 
she  must  descend.  A  swarm  of  flies  buzzed  and 
crawled  over  his  face,  unhealthily  flushed  through 
its  prison  sallowness  by  drink  and  the  June  sun. 

Leeb,  whose  tastes  were  dainty  as  those  of  any 
other  lady,  glanced  at  him  with  such  extreme 
disfavour  that  her  fear  was  for  the  time  being 
swallowed  up  in  disgust  She  paused  for  half  a 
dozen  long  moments,  finally  reached  down  an 
experimental  toe,  and  with  a  sharp  side  push  on 
the  close-cropped  head  she  undid  the  precarious 
balance  of  her  relative,  who  collapsed  flaccidly 
sideways  on  the  heather  like  an  overset  bolster. 

His  niece  sprang  over  his  prostrate  hulk,  took 
two  or  three  rapid  steps,  faced  about,  and  gazed 
fixedly  at  him,  to  show  that  she  was  not  in  the 
least  afraid,  then  walked  slowly  up  the  path  to  the 
crest  of  the  hill,  where  she  was  out  of  sight  of  the 
stile;  then,  with  heart  beating  wildly,  her  terror 
came  upon  her,  and  she  ran  as  hard  as  she  could 
towards  M'Lurg's  Mill,  which  lay  peacefully  among 
the  trees  at  the  foot  of  the  hill. 

As  she  came  down  the  woodside  she  caught  up 


222  THE  SIEGE  OF  M'LURGS  MILL. 

the  tough  branch  of  a  fir  tree,  and  drove  the  two 
cows,  now  no  longer  lean  and  ill-favoured,  and  the 
young  bull,  to  which  Leeb  had  been  looking  to  pay 
her  rent  that  year,  towards  the  byre.  She  sent 
Jock  and  his  mother  on  with  vicious  blows  till 
they  were  safely  stabled  in  their  stalls,  with  fresh 
bundles  of  clover  grass  before  them.  Then  Leeb 
locked  the  byre  door  with  a  ponderous  seldom-used 
key,  and  went  down  to  the  Mill  to  warn  Sanny 
MacQuhatt 

"Ay,  an'  yer  uncle's  come  hame,"  muttered 
Sanny.  "  That's  no'  sae  guid  ;  an  ill  yin  him  a' 
the  days  o'  him.  Tim  the  Tairger  they  ca'  him— 
no'  withoot  raison.     Ay,  ay,  an  ill  yin  Tim." 

"You'll  no'  let  him  within  the  Mill,  wull  ye, 
Sanny  ? " 

"  Certes,  he'll  no'  come  here  as  long  as  I'm 
responsible  for  pittin'  the  auld  ramshackle  in  order 
— mair  fule  me  for  takin'  on  the  job.  It's  never 
worth  it ;  guid  for  nocht  but  firewood." 

And  Sanny  grumbled  away  till  his  words  were 
lost  in  the  snuffling  produced  by  repeated  pinches 
of  brown  Taddy  from  his  waistcoat  pocket.  Leeb 
stood  patient  by,  knowing  that  at  this  juncture  the 
word  of  Sanny  MacQuhatt,  ill-tempered  old  cur- 
mudgeon of  a  millwright  though  he  might  be,  was 
to  her  a  tower  of  strength. 


THE  SIEGE  OF  iWLURGS  MILL.  223 

The  cattle  put  under  lock  and  key,  the  Mill 
garrisoned,  Leeb  proceeded  to  the  house,  where 
she  carefully  locked  every  door  and  put  the  hasp 
on  every  window.  Those  which  had  no  defence 
of  this  kind  she  secured  with  nails.  While  she 
was  still  employed  about  this  last  operation  there 
came  a  loud  knock  at  the  front  door,  which  Leeb 
had  secured  first  of  all. 

"  VVha's  there  ? "  challenged  the  besieged,  sharp 
and  clear. 

"  Open  the  door,  Leeb,"  returned  a  thick  voice, 
which  Leeb  knew  instinctively  to  be  that  of  her 
uncle.     "  It's  me  come  hame." 

"  I  ken  naebody  that's  to  come  hame,"  returned 
Leeb.     "  Wha  micht  'me'  be  ?  " 

"  D'ye  no'  mind  yer  Uncle  Timothy?"  said  the 
thick  voice  outside,  subsiding  into  a  whine.  "  Let 
me  come  ben,  Leeb  ;  I'm  comed  to  look  efter  ye, 
an'  to  work  for  ye  a'." 

"Na,"  said  Leeb,  "I've  worked  for  mysel'  a'  thae 
years  that  }'e've  been  lyin'  in  the  gaol,  a  disgrace 
to  us  a',  and  I'm  no'  gaun  to  let  ye  scatter  what  I 
hae  gathered,  sae  just  e'en  tak'  yersel'  aff  to  where 
ye  cam'  frae.     This  is  nae  hame  o'  yours." 

The  wrath  of  the  still  half-tipsy  man  rose  in  a 
flash.     His  voice  became  an  unsteady  scream. 

"  Then  tak'  heed  to  yersel',  Leeb  M'Lurg  ! "  he 


224  THE  SIEGE  OF  AfLURGS  MILL. 

shouted  through  the  keyhole.  "  Gin  ye  dinna  let 
me  in  I'll  burn  the  riggin'  ower  yer  heid — Mill 
first  and  then  the  hoose — ye  ill-set,  ungratefu' 
besom !  " 

"  Ay,  Uncle  Timothy,  ye  can  try  either  o'  the 
twa,"  said  Leeb,  from  the  safe  vantage  of  a  little 
staircase  window,  which,  made  of  a  single  pane, 
opened  inwards.  "  Gae  'wa'  frae  my  door  this 
minute,"  she  said. 

The  gaolbird  beneath  threw  himself  furiously 
against  the  old  wooden  door,  which  opened  in  the 
middle ;  but  the  oak  bolt  was  firm,  and  held. 
Still,  the  whole  house  shook  with  the  shock  of  his 
onslaught. 

Leeb  hesitated  no  longer,  but  snatched  a  black 
"  goblet "  from  the  side  of  the  kitchen  fire,  and  sent 
the  contents  out  of  the  window  with  a  deft  hand. 
There  was  an  answering  howl  of  pain. 

"  Ye've  scadded  me  !  I'll  hae  the  law  on  ye,  ye 
randy  !     I'll  hae  yer  life  !  " 

"  There's  a  potfu'  mair  on  the  fire  for  ye,  gin  ye 
dinna  gang  awa'  quaitly  wi'  what  ye  hae  gotten  !  " 
said  Tim  M'Lurg's  hard-hearted  niece. 

He  now  took  himself  off  in  the  direction  of  the 
barn.  Hardly  had  he  disappeared  on  the  other 
side  when  Leeb's  favourite  brother,  Benny,  came 
whistling   round    the   corner  opposite   to   that   at 


THE  SIEGE  OF  MLURGS  MILL,  225 

whicli  Tim  had  disappeared.  He  stood  astonished 
to  see  the  front  door  shut.  Leeb  hurried  down, 
unlocked  the  door,  and  called  to  him  to  run.  He 
came  slowly  towards  her  with  a  bewildered  coun- 
tenance. She  pulled  him  inside,  told  him  hurriedly 
what  had  happened,  and  sent  him  off  through  the 
back  window,  which  abutted  on  the  moor,  with  a 
message  to  Will  Morton,  the  schoolmaster.  Benny 
flew  like  the  wind.  He  knew  that  it  was  his  part 
to  bring  up  reinforcements  while  his  sister  kept  the 
castle.  Leeb  watched  till  Benny  was  safe  over 
the  hill,  then  she  herself  slipped  out  of  the  house, 
locking  the  door  behind  her,  and  went  towards  the 
Mill,  from  which  rose  the  sound  of  angry  voices. 
Before  she  got  there,  however,  the  commotion  was 
evidently  reaching  its  climax,  and  Leeb  deemed 
it  best  to  slip  into  the  byre,  through  one  of  the 
wickets  of  which  she  could  see  the  Mill  door. 
Through  that  wide-open  square  tumbled  Tim  the 
Tairger,  bareheaded  and  in  disarray,  and  behind 
him  appeared  the  burly  figure  of  old  Sanny  Mac- 
Quhatt,  with  his  millwrighting  mallet  in  his  hand. 

"  I  wad  be  wae  to  strike  the  like  o'  you,  Tim,"  said 
the  old  man.  "  Ye  michtna  need  anither,  but  dinna 
ye  come  back  here  to  interfere  wi'  my  wark.  Gang 
awa'  an'  collogue  wi'  yer  cronies,  poachers  an'  sic- 
like,  an'  lea'  decent  folk  abee  !  " 


226  THE  SIEGE  OF  M'LURGS  MILL. 

Timothy  gathered    himself   up.      He   had   had 
enough  of  the   millwright,  who,  having   done  his 
part,  went  staidly  back   to  his   interrupted  work. 
The   ill-treated    one  came  towards  the  byre,  and, 
seeing  the  door  open,  he  went  in.     Leeb  sprang 
into  the  bauks  above  the  stall  of  the  bull  just  in 
time.     Her   uncle    looked    the  cattle  over  with  a 
dissatisfied  eye.     He  seemed  to  Leeb  to  be  reckon- 
ing how  much  Crummie  and  Specklie  would  bring 
in  the  auction  mart.     She  resolved  that  he  should 
also  have  a  look  at  Jock,  and  so  be  able  to  decide 
on  his  market  value  as  well.     Stooping  over,  she 
undid    his  binding,  and    lashed    him  at  the  same 
time  sharply  across  the  nose  with  the  rope.     Jock 
lowered  his  head,  and  backed   indignantly  out  of 
his  stall.     As  he  turned  he  found  himself  face  to 
face  with  an  intruder,  a  man  whose  red  neckcloth 
proved    him    evidently    his    enemy    and    assailant. 
Jock's  charge  was  instant  and  effective.     With  a 
snort  he  cleared  the  byre,  and  pursued  across  the 
open  square  of  the  yard,  tail  in  air  and  horns  to 
the  ground.     Timothy  M'Lurg  could  not  complain 
of  the  warmth  of  his  reception  in  the  home  of  his 
ancestors. 

He  sought  refuge  from  the  bull  in  the  big  water 
hole  under  the  mill-wheel.  Here,  waiting  the  bull's 
retirement,  Leeb  interviewed  him   from    the    Mill 


THE  SIEGE  OF  M'LURGS  MILL.  227 

window,  under  the  protection  of  Sanny  Mac- 
Quhatt,  and  offered  him  a  pound  note  to  go  away. 
This  compromise  had  the  weakness  of  a  v/oman's 
compunction,  and  was  strongly  disapproved  of  by 
her  ally. 

**  Gie  that  craitur  a  poun'  to  drink — he'll  sune 
come  back  on  ye  for  anither,"  said  Sanny,  who 
knew  the  breed.     "  I'd  'pound  '  him,"  he  muttered. 

But  Tim  the  Tairger,  also  thinking  that  this 
offer  gave  signs  of  yielding,  rejected  it  with  oaths 
and  contumely.  On  the  contrary,  he  would  sell 
them  up,  bag  and  baggage.  The  whole  place  be- 
longed to  him.  He  had  deeds  that  could  prove 
it     Stock,  plenishing,  water-power — all  were  his, 

"  Gin  the  water-poo'er  be  yours,  ma  man,"  said 
Sanny,  "  ye  can  hae  that,  an'  welcome." 

Sanny's  humour  was  of  the  entirely  practical 
kind. 

He  went  to  the  mill-lade,  and  turned  on  the 
stream.  The  whole  force  of  M'Lurg's  mill-dam 
took  its  way  smoothly  down  the  repaired  lade,  and 
flashed  with  a  solid  leap  over  the  old  green  wheel 
upon  Timothy,  as  he  stood  between  the  bull  to 
landward  and  the  plunging  mill-wheel.  Sanny 
grimly  kept  up  his  end  of  the  jest. 

"  Hae,  ma  man,  ye'U  no'  say  that  we  keepit  ye 
oot  o'  yer  richts.     '  Water-poo'er,'  "  quo'  he  ;  "  nae 


228  THE  SIEGE  OF  M'LURGS  MILL. 

pound  notes  ye'se  get  i'  this  pairish,  but  it'll  no' 
be  Sanny  MacQuhatt  that'll  keep  ye  oot  o'  the  use 
o'  yer  ain  water-poo'er." 

Tim  the  Tairger  was  in  a  woeful  case.  The  old 
man  looked  from  the  Mill  window,  and  comforted 
him  with  crusty  humour,  the  points  of  which  were 
all  too  obvious.  The  cold  water  plunged  upon  him 
from  the  mill-wheel,  it  deepened  about  his  knees, 
and  Jock,  the  young  bull,  pawed  the  ground  and 
snorted  murderously  for  his  blood.  He  was  com- 
pletely sobered  now,  and  vowed  repeatedly  that  if 
they  would  only  give  him  the  pound  note  he  would 
eo  and  never  disturb  them  more. 

But  Sanny  had  taken  things  into  his  own  hands, 
and  would  not  allow  Leeb  to  interfere. 

"  Bide  ye  where  ye  are,  ma  man  ;  ye're  braw 
and  caller  doon  there.  Ye  were  aye  a  drouthy 
lad,  Tim,  since  ever  I  kenned  \'e.  Ye're  in  the 
way  o'  being  slockened  noo  !  An'  in  a  wee  there'll 
be  a  bonny  lad  wi'  silver  buttons  comin'  up  that 
road  to  look  for  ye,  Benny,  yer  ain  bluid  relative 
he's  gane  for  him,  an'  he'll  hae  him  here  the  noo 
It  was  a  blessin'  he  was  in  the  daistrict  onyway  ; 
it's  no'  that  often  a  polisman's  where  he's  wantit." 

"  Here  he's  comes,"  cried  Leeb,  from  her  post  of 
observation  in  the  Mill  gable. 

Tim  the  Tairger  took  one  look  down  the  road 


THE  SIEGE  OF  MLURG'S  MILL.  229 

one  link  of  which  he  could  see  as  it  wound  round 
the  loch.  He  saw  the  sun  glitter  on  the  white 
buttons  of  a  policeman's  coat,  who  came  stalking 
majestically  along.  Whatever  evil  Tim  had  on  his 
conscience  of  prison-breaking  or  ticket-of-leave 
unreported  we  do  not  know,  but  the  fear  of  the 
officer  of  the  law  overpowered  even  his  fear  of  Jock's 
horns.  With  a  wild  skelloch  of  desperation  he 
dashed  out  of  the  pool,  and  took  down  the  road, 
doubling  from  the  bull  like  a- hunted  hare. 

The  schoolmaster — masquerading  according  to 
Leeb's  orders,  in  Sergeant  Macmillan's  old  police- 
man's coat — saw  Timothy  M'Lurg  leap  the  low 
loaning  dyke  and  tear  down  the  road.  After  him 
thundered  the  bull,  routing  in  blood-curdling 
wrath.  From  a  high  knoll  he  watched  the  chase, 
till  hunter  and  hunted  were  lost  in  the  shades  of 
Knockangry  Wood.  The  bull  was  found  next 
day  wandering  near  Dairy,  with  a  clouted  deer- 
stalking cap  transfixed  on  one  horn  ;  but  as  for 
Tim  the  Tairger,  he  was  never  more  heard  tell  of 
in  Stewartry  or  in  Shire. 

The  mystery  is  not  likely  to  be  solved  now,  for 
the  secrets  of  that  chase  are  only  known  to  Jock, 
and  he  ran  his  earthly  race  to  the  beef-tub  half  a 
dozen  years  ago  without  unburdening  his  conscience 
to   any.     From    his  uncertain  temper   it  is,  how- 


230  THE  SIEGE  OF  UPLURGS  MILL. 

ever,   suspected    that   he   had    something   on    his 
mind. 

As  for  Sanny  MacQuhatt,  he  says  that  he  is 
"  miickle  feared  that  Tim  the  Tairger  is  gane  whaur 
he  wad  be  michty  gled  o'  the  water-poo'er  o'  Mac- 
Lurg's  mill-lade,  whilk,"  concludes  Sanny,  "I  defy 
him  to  say  that  I  ever  denied  him." 


THE  MINISTER  OF  SCAUR  CASTS  OUT 
WITH  HIS  MAKER. 

Silas  CartwrigHT  had  a  quarrel  with  the  Al- 
mighty. He  had  dwelt  five  years  by  the  side  of 
the  Scaur  Water.  He  was  a  lonely  man  and 
little  given  to  going  into  company.  The  men  of  his 
presbytery  found  it  hard  to  draw  him  away  from 
his  manse  even  for  a  night.  He  asked  none  of 
them  to  assist  him  at  his  Communion  seasons 
except  Mr,  Ure  of  Crawwheats  and  Mr.  Croft  of 
the  Riggs,  both  of  whom  could  go  back  to  their 
manses  the  same  night. 

The  manse  of  the  Scaur  sat  on  a  high  bank 
overlooking  the  long,  narrow,  densely  wooded 
valley.  From  his  study  window  the  minister  could 
look  over  the  clustered  slate  roofs  of  the  village 
of  Scaur  into  the  pale-blue  misty  distance,  through 
which  a  silver  thread  ran  —  Silas  Cartwright's 
glimpse  of  that  other  world  where  the  Nith 
glimmered  among  its  rich  wheat-fields.  Above  the 
manse  of  Scaur  the  woods  died  out  into  fringing 


232  THE  MINISTER  OF  SCA  UR. 

hazel  and  birch,  and  the  brown  moorland  began 
where  the  whaups  and  the  peewits  made  a  blithe 
crj'ing  on  the  June  mornings,  and  the  jacksnipe 
swooped  sidelong  with  melancholy  wing-quaverings 
every  autumn  evening. 

It  was  to  the  bare  hills  of  heather  that  Silas 
Cartwright  took  his  way  every  time  that  he  undid 
the  hasp  of  the  creaking  front  door  of  the  manse 
which  was  so  seldom  used.  He  dwelt  amons  his 
hill  folk  like  a  man  of  another  blood  and  another 
speech.  City  bred  and  delicately  nurtured,  he  had 
come  to  the  parish  of  Scaur  in  the  last  days  of 
patronage,  through  the  interest  of  a  university 
friend  who  happened  to  be  the  penniless  laird  of 
a  barren  heritage  of  bog  and  morass. 

"  You  tak'  the  lairdship,  an'  I'll  tak'  the  stee- 
pend  ! "  his  friend  had  said. 

But  Silas  Cartwright  had  stuck  to  the  manse. 
He  had  a  great  desire  in  his  heart  to  be  a  leader 
among  men,  and  the  chance  which  opened  to  him 
among  the  shepherds  and  small  sheep  farmers  of 
the  Scaur  Water  was  peculiarly  feiscinating.  Like- 
wise there  was  a  girl  with  a  pale  cheek  and  shining 
gold  hair  for  whom  the  minister  dreamed  of  making 
a  home.  He  had  met  Cecilia  Barton  in  Edinburgh 
drawing-rooms,  where  her  pale  beauty  and  crown 
of  glistening  tresses  had    lain  heavy  on  his  heart 


THE  MINISTER  OF  SCAUR.  233 

for  many  many  days  after.  Then  they  had  met 
again  by  the  side  of  the  Eastern  sea,  where  the 
rocky  islands  stood  out  in  the  morning  like  dusky 
amethysts  against  the  sun.  He  had  paced  the 
sands  with  her,  overtowering  her  sHm  form  with 
his  masculine  stolidity.  Cecilia  Barton  listened 
with  a  far-off  sympathy  while  the  tall  student 
quoted  Tennyson  to  her,  and  even  thrilled  with 
a  faint  emotion  as  the  tones  of  his  voice  proclaimed 
more  plainly  than  words  that  she,  she  only,  was 
the  power 

"  Whose  slightest  whisper  moves  me  more, 
Than  all  the  rano^ed  reasons  of  the  world." 


't>^ 


This  girl  with  the  far-off  eyes  had  trod,  careless 
but  not  unconscious,  on  many  hearts,  and  the 
virginal  whiteness  of  her  summer  dress  was  more 
passionate  than  the  heart  which  beat  beneath  it. 

Silas  Cartwright,  as  he  walked  on  the  moorland 
with  his  staff  in  his  hand,  thought  often  of  the 
days  when  Tantallon's  toothless  portcullis  was  a 
gateway  to  the  palace  of  delights,  and  when  Fidra 
and  the  small  isles  swam  on  a  sea  of  bliss.  All  this 
because  there  was  a  tolerant  kindness  in  a  girl's 
languid  eyes,  and  because  the  glamour  of  a  first 
love  had  fallen  upon  a  young  man.  Then  it  was 
that  Cecilia  Barton  had  expressed  her  fondness  for 


234  THE  MINISTER  OF  SCAUR. 

a  life  of  pastoral  quietness,  simple  among  a  simple 
people.  This  was  her  ideal,  she  said,  her  desire 
above  all  others.  Her  voice  was  soft ;  her  eyes 
luminous.  Her  mother  would  have  smiled  had 
she  heard  her,  but  Cecilia  Barton  did  not  talk  thus 
to  her  mother.  Really  her  ideals  lay  in  the  region 
of  C-springed  carriages  and  dressing-cases  with 
fittings  of  monogramed  gold. 

When  Silas  Cartwright  went  back  to  his  city 
home  that  autumn  he  treasured  some  words  which 
in  the  silent  coolness  of  a  rocky  recess  this  girl's 
voice  had  said  to  him.  Indeed,  they  were  more 
to  him  than  the  call  of  the  Master  whom  he  had 
promised  to  serve. 

He  took  her  hand  in  his,  and  she  let  it  lie.  He 
saw  strange  meanings  in  her  eyes  as  they  looked 
out  to  sea.  Really  she  was  only  wondering  what 
he  would  do  next.  Men  do  not  act  alike  in  such 
cases  and  the  uncertainty  was  pleasing.  But  Silas 
Cartwright,  with  small  originality,  only  leaned 
towards  the  reflected  light  on  the  pale-gold  hair. 

"  Do  you  love  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

After  a  pause  Cecilia  Barton  answered  him, 
"  There  is  no  man  I  love  so  well." 

Which  was  true  and  hopeful  so  far,  and  might 
have  been  sufficient  had  there  not  been  a  girl 
whom  she  loved  infinitely  more. 


THE  MINISTER  OF  SCA  UR.  235 

That  last  winter  passed  with  presbyterial  trials 
and  class  examinations  to  be  overleaped,  meaning- 
less to  him  as  hurdles  in  a  handicap.  License  and 
ordination  he  passed  like  mile-stones  which  marked 
his  progress  towards  the  white-walled  manse  in  a 
sunny  glen  which  should  be  a  home  for  a  new 
Adam  and  Eve.  Then  came  Adam  Stennis  and 
his  offer  of  the  manse  of  the  Scaur.  The  young 
minister  preached  there  to  a  scanty  flock  who 
accepted  him  with  unconcern.  The  Cameronians 
were  strong  in  that  glen,  and  they  looked  on  the 
new  parish  minister  as  an  emblem  of  the  powers  of 
State  which  had  refused  to  set  up  a  Covenanted 
church.  They  came  to  the  ordination,  however, 
and  sat  silent  with  grim  disapproval  in  every  line 
of  their  faces.  Then  Silas  Cartwright  occupied 
himself  in  making  a  round  of  pastoral  visitations, 
and  in  getting  his  furniture  up  from  Thorniwood. 
He  saw  each  article  taken  carefully  off  the  carts  ; 
he  unpacked  it  with  his  own  hands,  saying  to  him- 
self, "In  this  chair  she  will  sit.  At  this  table  she 
will  preside  !  "  His  Sabbaths  were  chiefly  delight- 
ful to  him  because  of  the  vision  of  shining  pale- 
gold  hair  which  glimmered,  unseen  by  all  save  the 
minister,  in  the  gloomy  square  prison  of  the  manse 
seat.  Here  he  would  open  the  Sunday  school. 
Here  at  the  little  school's  lower  end,  beneath  the 


236  THE  MINISTER  OF  SCA  UR. 

windows  round  which  the  white  roses  clambered  to 
peep  in,  the  little  cottage  organ  which  he  had 
bought  for  her  would  sit,  and  the  thrill  of  her  voice 
would  shake  the  tendrils  of  the  honeysuckle  about 
the  porch. 

One  day  the  carrier  brought  the  minister  of  the 
Scaur  a  parcel,  and  on  the  same  day  the  postman 
brought  him  a  newspaper.  The  latter  was  marked 
with  a  blue  cross,  and  announced  that  the  marriage 
of  Perkins  Dobbs  and  Cecilia  Barton  had  been 
celebrated  by  the  Rev.  Dean  Harkaway  in  the 
cathedral  church  of  St.  Kentigern.  The  bride  had 
chosen  the  monograms  and  the  C-springs.  The 
country  manse  was  a  mere  holiday  opinion  vanish- 
ing with  Fidra  and  the  grassy  gateways  of  Tan- 
tallon.  She  whirled  away  amid  smiles  and  rice, 
with  the  coat  of  arms  of  the  paternal  Dobbs  (who 
in  his  day  had  brewed  the  best  of  ale)  on  the  panels 
of  her  carriage,  and  there  was  an  end  of  her. 

But  what  of  the  manse  that  was  furnished  for 
her,  the  chairs  which,  as  they  were  bought,  packed, 
transported,  and  set  up,  were  each  consecrated  to 
her  down-sitting  ?  What  of  the  man  whose  every 
breath  was  a  spasm  of  pain,  to  whom  sleep  came 
with  a  feeling  of  deadliest  oppression,  and  who 
awoke  in  the  morning  to  a  sharp  and  cruel  stound 
of  agony  ? 


THE  MINISTER  OF  SCA  UR.  237 

Silas  Cartwright  walked  on  the  moorland  by 
night  and  day.  He  did  not  think.  He  did  not 
speak.  He  did  not  nmrmur.  He  only  looked  for 
God's  juniper  bush,  under  which  he  might  lie  down 
and  die. 

But  a  man  cannot  die  naturally  when  he  will, 
and  Silas  Cartwright  had  stronger  stuff  in  him  than 
those  have  who  take  away  their  own  lives. 

The  girl  who  had  wronged  him  still  lived  with 
him  a  ghostly  presence,  and  sat  opposite  him  in  the 
chairs  which  he  had  dreamed  she  would  occupy. 

He  saw  her  in  the  graceful  quiet  of  her  white 
gown  on  the  little  green  lawn  under  the  apple 
trees.  In  his  dreams  he  took  her  hand  and  climbed 
the  mountains  with  her,  taking  her  far  up  into  the 
bosom  of  the  moors,  where  the  high  Lead  Hills  fold 
themselves  in  overlapping  purple  masses  about  the 
Pass  of  Dalveen. 

"  This  way  madness  lies  ! "  he  would  say  time 
and  again  to  himself,  when  like  a  dash  of  cold  rain 
the  reality  of  his  loss  came  upon  him  ;  but  as  his 
strange  fancy  strengthened,  he  walked  with  a 
ghostly  bride  and  buried  himself  in  an  unreal 
present  in  order  to  shut  out  a  hopeless  future. 

His  pulpit  work  alternated  between  severely 
orthodox  disquisitions  quarried  from  the  literature 
of  the  past,  over  which  every  minister  has  mining 


238  THE  MINISTER  OF  SCAUR. 

rights,  and  strange,  dreamy  rhapsodies  which  con- 
siderably astonished  his  hearers  in  the  little  kirk  of 
Scaur. 

Silas  Cartwright  had  never  been  a  deeply  spiritual 
man  ;  but  now,  steeped  in  a  kind  of  mystic  make- 
believe,  he  reached  out  towards  all  sorts  of  spiri- 
tualism and  occultism.  He  had  catalogues  of 
books  on  these  subjects  sent  to  him,  and  from  these 
he  made  extensive  purchases,  far  beyond  what  his 
means  allowed.  He  steeped  his  mind  in  these 
studies,  and  it  was  not  long  before  his  work  as 
pastor  among  the  hill  folk  became  distasteful  to 
him.  His  congregation  of  a  Sunday — droning 
psalms  and  fluttering  leaves,  sitting  in  straggling 
clusters  about  the  pews,  each  looking  more  uncom- 
fortable than  his  neighbour — moved  before  him 
like  idle  painted  shapes  in  a  mummer's  show.  The 
only  real  figure  in  that  grey  kirk  of  rough  harled 
masonry  was  the  Presence  with  the  shining  hair 
sitting  quiet  on  the  cushions  of  the  manse  seat. 

The  parish  of  Scaur  did  not  let  its  tongue  lie 
still  while  all  this  was  going  on.  It  had  its  own 
opinion,  which  was  plainly,  that  the  minister  was 
going  out  of  his  mind.  But  he  was  all  the  less  to 
be  meddled  with  on  that  account.  He  had  even 
an  increase  of  his  Sabbath  congregations,  for  it 
was  a  fascinating  subject   to  discuss  the  strange 


THE  MINISTER  OF  SCAUR.  239 

Utterances  of  a  mad  minister  at  farm  ingle  nooks, 
and  by  the  smithy  fire   during  the   week.      The 
Cameronians  took  little  heed.     It  was  small  con- 
cern of  theirs   if  an   Erastian  went  wrong  in  his 
mind.     He  was  far  from   right  to  begin  with.     So 
their  minister  simply  kept    leathering  on   at   the 
fundamentals.     One  of  the  things  most  noted  was 
the  care  with  which  the  minister  paraphrased  the 
name  of  God  in  his  prayers  and  discourses.     The 
superstitious  said  that  he  dared  not  utter  the  Name. 
The  bolder  made  bets  that  he  would  not  do  so  in 
the  whole  course  of  a  morning's  diet  of  worship  ; 
and  they  won  their  wagers.     It  was,  indeed,  small 
wonder  that    the  parish   decided  that  its  minister 
was  going  out  of  his  mind. 

But  the  seasons  went  round,  and  the  most  that 
any  one  could  say  when  asked  about  Mr.  Cartwright 
was  that  he  was  "  No'  muckle  waur  than  usual !  " 
He  himself  got  little  ease  or  peace  of  mind,  and  it 
was  impossible  that  he  could,  considering  the  pur- 
pose which  his  mind  confessed.     This  was  no  less 
than  to  take  his  revenge  on  God  for  denying  him 
the  desire  of  his  heart.     There  was  a  kind  of  joy 
in  the  thought  that  he  had  cast  out  with  his  Maker. 
What  actually  cured  him  it  is  strange  to  have  to 
tell.     When    Cecilia  Barton  drove  away  that  day 
behind  the  bays  of  Dobbs,  she  covenanted  for  a 


240  THE  MINISTER  OF  SCA  UR. 

position  and  for  riches.  On  the  other  hand,  she 
had  a  husband  whom  she  loved  with  such  love  that 
when  he  died  after  five  years,  she  put  on  widow's 
weeds  of  the  best  quality  and  was  exceeding  thank- 
ful. Then  she  came  down  to  a  shooting-lodge  in 
the  Nith  valley,  and  sent  for  Silas  Cartwright  to 
come  to  see  her.  He  resisted  the  summons  for 
some  days,  for  his  ideal  bride  had  grown  to  suffice 
him,  and  then  finally  he  went.  He  saw  and  he 
returned — a  sane  man  whose  cure  was  complete. 
He  had  seen  a  fat  woman  with  two  fatter  lap  dogs, 
who  talked  concerning  horses  and  sneered  at  the 
people  of  the  shepherd's  houses  about  the  mansion- 
house  which  she  occupied. 

So  Silas  Cartwright  returned,  clothed  and  in  his 
right  mind.  There  was  no  presence  in  the  manse 
seat  any  more.  He  made  his  peace  with  God  in 
ways  that  are  not  our  business.  His  sermons  were 
new  things — instinct  with  actuality  and  fervour. 
Some  of  the  hill  folk  went  over  to  the  parish  church 
to  hear  him  one  night  when  he  held  an  evening 
service.  An  old  elder  walked  to  the  manse  gate 
with  the  young  man.  They  two  stood  a  moment 
silent,  and  then  the  elder  spoke. 

"  Maister  Cartwright,"  he  said,  "you  and  your 
Maker  had  an*  awfu'  cast  oot  ;  but  noo  that  ye've 
made  it  up,  man,  ye're  fit  to  be  a  Cameronian ! " 


JOHN  BLACK,  CRITIC  IN  ORDINARY. 

John  Black  was  not  a  minister,  but  there  were 
few  ministers  that  could  hold  a  candle  to  him. 
This  is  a  fact.  John  Black  says  so  himself.  He 
desires  to  add  "  if  any."  But  owing  to  jealousy  he 
has  somehow  never  been  appreciated.  But  if  John 
Black  were  to  speak  his  mind,  he  "  kens  o'  at  least 
twal'  ministers  that  had  better  resign."  Previous, 
however,  to  this  holocaust  we  may  endeavour  to  do 
some  justice  to  John  Black  himself.  He  came  to 
our  Sunday-school  trip  this  year,  and  his  sayings 
and  doings  for  a  long  summer's  day  were  within 
our  observation.  The  result  is  appended  here- 
under, and  may  form  a  humble  introduction  to 
John's  intended  series  of  essays  in  destructive 
criticism. 

First  of  all,  John  Black  said  that  we  were  sure 
to  get  a  bad  day  because  we  were  going  in  the 
month  of  July.  It  is  sure  to  rain  in  July.  John 
had  been  a  teacher  in  the  school  as  long  as  he  had 
a  class,  or,  more  accurately,  as  often   as  he  could 

i6 


242      JOHN  BLACK,  CRITIC  IN  ORDINARY. 

get  his  class  to  attend,  for  he  used  to  disperse  any 
class  that  was  given  to  him  in  about  three  Sabbath 
days.  The  laddies  said  that  "  they  werena  comin' 
there  to  hae  their  lugs  dadded."  John  said  that 
"  he  never  saw  sic  a  set  o'  young  haythens  ; "  and 
as  for  the  superintendent,  he  said  that  "he  had 
something  else  to  do  than  to  rampage  the  country 
seeking  for  laddies  to  run  away  from  John  Black. 
If  John  wanted  any  more  classes  he  could  seek 
them  himself"  John  felt  that  this  was  a  discourage- 
ment, and  resigned  his  position  as  an  acting  teacher 
in  our  congregational  Sabbath  school.  But  he  re- 
tained, entirely  by  his  own  appointment,  a  sort  of 
honorary  position  as  general  critic  to  the  manage- 
ment, and  thought  himself  more  indispensable 
than  the  entire  staff.  This  was  not,  however,  we 
believe,  the  universal  opinion. 

Last  year  we  went  up  the  country  for  our 
summer  trip  to  a  field  on  the  farm  of  Greenshiels  ; 
John  Black's  auntie,  who  lived  on  the  farm,  had 
the  supplying  of  the  milk  on  that  occasion,  and,  as 
everybody  allowed,  she  just  charged  us  two  prices. 
John  Black  wanted  us  to  go  back  to  Greenshiels 
this  year,  but  the  minister  had  made  arrangements 
with  one  of  his  elders  to  visit  his  farm  of  Port 
More,  on  the  shores  of  the  Frith.  John  Black  was 
much  distressed  at  the  thought  of  all  the  children 


JOHN  BLACK,  CRITIC  IN  ORDINARY.      243 

falling  off  the  rocky  "  heughs  "  of  Port  More,  and 
being  brought  home  on  a  procession  of  shutters. 
Whereupon  the  minister  said  that  in  that  case 
they  had  better  take  the  shutters  with  them,  for 
there  were  none  within  six  miles  of  Port  More. 
John  told  the  minister  that  he  would  not  have  his 
responsibility  for  the  best  cow  in  the  parish.  But 
the  minister  thought  he  could  take  the  responsibility 
without  the  cow.  He  is  quite  able  for  John  Black 
at  any  time,  is  our  minister. 

We  were  going  in  carts,  for  the  reason  that  if  we 
did  not  go  in  carts  we  should  have  had  to  walk. 
Indeed,  many  did  walk ;  the  younger  teachers 
of  both  sexes  in  order  to  take  the  short  cuts 
through  the  wood,  and  so  save  the  horses — while 
many  of  the  elder  boys  ranged  on  both  sides  of 
the  road,  like  greyhounds  fresh  off  the  slip.  The 
minister  walked  sedately  behind  all  the  carts  along 
with  the  superintendent,  seeing  more  than  any  one 
gave  him  credit  for. 

There  was  not  much  cheering  when  we  started, 
for  not  many  people  were  about,  and  it  is  no  use 
hurrahing  if  there  is  no  one  to  hear  you.  The 
girls,  for  the  most  part,  stayed  quietly  in  their  carts 
and  sang  hymns  softly,  with  such  of  their  teachers 
as,  from  age  or  other  cause,  had  no  call  to  rest  the 
horses.     There  were  some  farmers'  sons  driving  the 


244     JOHN  BLACK,  CRITIC  IN  ORDINARY. 

carts,  very  nice  lads,  though  shy  as  a  rule  till  they 
found  their  tongues — which  they  did  not  do  in 
general  until  they  were  within  a  mile  of  their  own 
homes,  and  could  see  the  smoke  from  their  ancestral 
chimneys.  Then  they  became  unexpectedly  voluble, 
and  displayed  astonishing  local  knowledge  for  the 
benefit  of  the  lady  teachers.  James  Greg  even 
asked  the  Misses  Robb,  whose  father  keeps  the 
shop  at  the  Bridge  End,  if  they  would  not  like  to 
come  and  live  at  his  house.  This  was  felt  to  be 
a  very  great  length  for  Jam-es  to  go,  but  then 
James  was  known  in  all  the  parish  to  be  a  very 
daring  Romeo.  But  Nancy  Robb  soon  brought 
him  to  confusion  by  replying :  "  We  canna  a'  three 
come,  Jamie  ;  tell  us  what  ane  ye  want,  an'  then 
we'll  see  aboot  it !  " 

Nancy  had  been  used  to  holding  her  own  with 
the  town  lads,  so  James's  rustic  gallantry  was 
child's  play  to  her.  Besides,  she  was  going  to  be 
married  in  the  back  end,  and  so  could  speak  more 
freely.  No  one  is  so  dangerous  as  an  engaged 
girl,  not  even  a  widow,  though  here  the  authorities 
are  against  us.  The  engaged  girl  is  a  licensed 
heart- breaker,  certified  capable,  who  knows  that 
her  time  is  short. 

V/hen  we  got  to  Port  More  we  all  went  to  have 
a  look  at  the  tide,  which  was  just  coming  in.   Some 


JOHN  BLACK,  CRITIC  IN  ORDINARY.      245 

of  the  boys  were  only  restrained  by  the  most 
forcible  arguments  from  bathing  there  and  then. 
The  water  was  about  four  inches  deep  half  a  mile 
from  the  shore  ;  so,  to  make  fun  of  them,  the 
minister  advised  them  to  walk  out  with  their 
clothes  on,  and  strip  when  they  got  into  deep 
water  ;  but  none  of  them  did  that. 

We  were  just  all  seated  in  a  great  irregular  semi- 
circle, having  milk  and  buns,  when  John  Black 
drove  up  in  his  auntie's  gig,  which  he  had  borrowed 
for  the  occasion.  He  had  not  been  asked,  but  that 
did  not  prevent  him  from  finding  fault  with  all 
the  arrangements  as  soon  as  he  arrived.  Milk, 
it  appeared,  was  bad  for  the  stomach  when  over- 
heated, and  ought  to  have  had  its  acidity  corrected, 
according  to  his  auntie's  recipe,  with  a  little  water. 

"  We  want  nane  of  yer  milk  frae  the  coo  wi'  the 
iron  tail,  John,"  said  one  of  the  teachers,  who  did 
not  like  John,  and  had  said  that  he  would  not 
come  if  John  was  asked. 

The  children  did  not  seem  to  feel  any  bad  effects, 
however,  nor  did  they  quarrel  with  the  want  of  the 
corrective  water,  judging  by  the  milk  they  stowed 
away  about  their  persons.  In  a  few  minutes,  after 
sundry  cautions  from  the  minister  not  to  go  along 
the  shore  without  a  teacher,  they  scattered  into 
small  roving  bands.  The  cricket  stumps  were  soon 


246     JOHN  BLACK,  CRITIC  IN  ORDINARY. 

up,  and  a  good  game  going.  One  of  the  teachers 
took  the  biggest  boys  to  bathe  in  a  sheltered  cove 
at  some  distance,  where  the  tide  had  come 
sufficiently  far  up.  The  lady  teachers  wandered 
about  and  picked  rock  rose  and  other  seaside 
flowers,  or  explored  with  their  classes  the  great 
shell  heaps  for  "  rosebuds  "  and  "  legs  of  mutton." 
All  was  peaceful  and  happy,  and  the  minister  was 
the  happiest  of  all,  for  his  sermons  were  both  done, 
and  lying  snug  within  his  Bible  in  the  study  of  the 
manse.  He  talked  to  the  superintendent  at  inter- 
vals, sucking  meanwhile  the  ends  of  some  sprays  of 
honeysuckle.  Then  he  crossed  his  legs,  and  told 
tales  of  how  Rob  Blair  and  he  lived  on  ten  shillings 
a  week  in  their  first  session  at  college.  The  super- 
intendent took  mental  notes  for  the  benefit  of  his 
own  boys,  two  of  whom  were  going  up  to  college  this 
winter  with  quite  other  notions.  All  was  peaceful 
— a  bland  happiness  settled  upon  the  chiefs 
looking  down  on  the  whole  of  their  extensive 
family — a  peace  rudely  disturbed  by  a  "cleg" 
which  had  inquiringly  settled  on  the  back  of  the 
minister's  neck.  It  was  a  trying  moment ;  but  the 
minister  was  calm.     He  said,  quietly  : 

"  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  kill  me  that  *  cleg  ' 
on  the  back  of  my  neck,  Mr.  Poison  ?  " 

The  superintendent  saw  the   insect   apparently 


JOHN  BLACK,  CRITIC  IN  ORDINARY.      247 

standing  on  its  head,  gorging  itself  with  clerical 
blood,  and  realised  that  he  had  got  a  great  man 
for  his  minister.  John  Black  (who  was  not  far 
away,  explaining  to  three  teachers  and  four  of  the 
elder  scholars  that  the  minister  and  superintendent 
were  a  couple  of  incapables)  said  when  he  went 
home  that  it  was  no  wonder  that  the  school  was 
going  to  rack  and  ruin,  for  he  "  saw  wi'  his  ain  een 
the  superintendent  and  the  minister  fa'in'  oot  to  that 
extent  that  the  superintendent  gied  the  minister  a 
daud  i'  the  side  o'  the  heid  1  " 

In  the  afternoon  we  made  tea.  The  young  men 
helped  the  ladies,  while  John  Black  kept  off  the 
children  with  a  stick  and  also  offered  advice.  The 
children  made  faces  at  him,  and  once  when  he  went 
out  of  earshot  of  the  group  at  the  fire  Wattie  Robb 
squared  up  at  him,  and  dared  him  to  "  come  ahint 
the  plantin' !  "  He  was  not  a  man  who  was  much 
appreciated,  was  John  Black.  The  minister  smiled, 
looking  at  the  bright  print-clad  girls  and  their 
willing  assistants,  for  he  thought  that  he  would  be 
a  white  silk  handkerchief  or  two  the  richer  before 
the  winter.  It  is  the  correct  thing  for  the  bride  to 
give  the  minister  on  the  occasion  of  a  wedding. 

"  It  wad  be  mair  wiselike,"  said  his  housekeeper, 
Mary,  "  if  folk  that  gets  marriet  had  eneuch  gump- 
tion to  gie  ye  guid  linen  instead  o'  middlin'  silk  !  " 


248     JOHN  BLACK,  CRITIC  IN  ORDINARY. 

The  children  were  not  a  bit  tired  when  they 
came  to  be  mustered  for  the  home-going,  and  life 
and  Hmb  were  intact,  in  spite  of  John  Black's 
prophecy.  They  would  certainly  have  been  the 
better  of  a  wash,  for  some  of  them  had  apparently 
been  trying  to  tunnel  right  through  "  to  the  Aunty 
Pods,"  as  the  farmer  of  Port  More  said.  The 
superintendent  knew  of  at  least  four  boys  with 
deceased  rabbits  up  their  trouser  legs  ;  but  they 
were  all  the  happier,  and  they  made  perfect  bowers 
of  the  carts  on  the  way  home  with  green  branches 
and  flowers,  cheering  the  long  journey  with  song. 
They  were  a  jovial  company,  and  each  one  of  them 
was  as  hoarse  as  a  crow  with  shouting  and  hurrah- 
ing as  they  came  in  triumph  through  the  town  to 
dismount  at  the  cross  before  the  assembled  towns- 
folk. The  superintendent  was  a  proud  man  that 
night  seeing  the  end  of  his  labours,  and  a  kindly 
dew  stood  in  the  minister's  eyes  as  he  watched  the 
red  carts,  crowded  with  happy  young  ones,  pass 
him  in  review  order.  "  Of  such,"  he  said,  "  is  the 
kingdom  of  heaven." 

But  John  Black's  voice  recalled  him  to  himself 
as  he  drove  by  in  his  auntie's  gig. 

"  There'll  be  an  awfu'  lot  o'  them  no'  weel  the 
morn  wi'  a'  that  unta'en  doon  raw  milk.  Ye  wad 
hae  been  better  up  at  Greenshiels  wi'  my  auntie  I  " 


THE   CANDID  FRIEND. 

The  lamp  had  long  been  lighted  in  the  manse 
of  Dule — that  is,  the  lamp  in  the  minister's  study. 
The  one  belonging  to  the  sitting-room  was  not  yet 
brought  in,  for  the  mistress  of  the  manse  was  teach- 
ing the  bairns  their  evening  lesson,  and  the  murmur 
of  her  voice,  broken  into  by  the  high  treble  of 
children's  questions,  came  fitfully  to  the  minister  as 
he  ploughed  his  way  through  Thirdly.  He  smiled 
as  he  heard  the  intermittent  din,  and  once  he 
moved  as  if  to  leave  his  work  to  itself  and  go  into 
the  other  room  ;  but  a  glance  at  the  expanse  of 
unfilled  paper  changed  his  purpose,  and  he  pro- 
ceeded with  his  dark  spider  tracks  across  the  white 
sheet.  Men  who  write  chiefly  for  their  own  read- 
ing write  badly — ministers  worst  of  all.  The  wind 
was  blowing  a  hurricane  about  the  manse  of  Dule 
the  bare  branches  of  the  straggling  poplars  that 
bordered  the  walk  whipped  the  window  of  the 
study,  and  the  rain  volleyed  against  the  panes  in 

349 


250  THE  CANDID  FRIEND. 

single  drops  the  size  of  shillings.  The  ministei 
put  a  lump  of  coal  on  the  fire,  pausing  a  long 
time  before  he  put  it  on,  finally  letting  it  drop 
with  a  bang  as  the  uncertain  joints  of  the  spindle- 
legged  tongs  gave  way  diagonally.  'Tis  a  way 
that  tongs  have,  and  the  minister  seemed  to  feel 
it,  for  he  said  emphatically,  "  No  ;  that  will  not 
do !  "  But  he  was  referring  to  Thirdly.  So  he  lay 
back  for  a  long  time  and  cogitated  an  illustration  ; 
then  he  took  a  book  of  reference  down  from  the 
shelf,  which  proved  so  interesting  that  he  continued 
to  read  long  after  he  had  passed  the  limit  at  which 
all  information  germane  to  his  subject  ceased.  It 
was  another  way  he  had,  and  he  excused  the  habit 
to  himself  by  saying  that  doubtless  he  thus  gained 
a  good  deal  of  information. 

Then  to  the  window  there  came  a  roaring  gust 
which  bent  the  frame  and  thundered  amongr  the 
fir  trees  at  the  gable  end  as  if  it  would  have  them 
all  down  before  the  morning.  The  minister  hoped 
that  there  would  be  no  poor  outcast  homeless  on 
such  a  night,  and  as  a  sort  of  per  contra  he 
remembered  that  no  one  could  possibly  come  to 
interrupt  him  this  evening  at  least,  and  that  he 
might  even  finish  one  sermon  and  get  well  under 
weigh  with  the  other. 

At  this  moment  he  heard  the  squeak  of  the  bell 


THE  CANDID  FRIEND.  »$! 

wire  that  told  him  that  a  visitor  was  at  the  outer 
door.  Some  Solomon  of  an  architect  or  bell-hanger 
had  made  the  bell  wire  pass  through  the  study  on 
its  way  to  the  kitchen,  and  so  the  minister  was 
warned  of  the  chance  comer  while  his  feet  were 
yet  on  the  threshold.  The  student  under  the  lamp 
sighed,  lay  back  in  his  chair,  and  waited.  He 
almost  prayed  that  it  might  merely  be  a  message  ; 
but  no — the  sound  of  shuffling  feet :  it  was  some- 
body coming  in. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  study  door,  and  then 
the  voice  of  the  faithful  Marget,  saying  : 
"  Maister  Tammas  Partan  to  see  ye,  sir." 
She  said  this  with  great  distinctness,  for  the 
minister  had  once  checked  her  for  saying,  "  Here's 
Tammas  Partan  !  "  which  was  what  she  longed  to 
say  to  this  day. 

"  How  are  you  to-night,  Thomas  ?  "  asked  the 
minister.  He  tried  hard  to  say,  "  I'm  glad  to  see 
you,"  but  could  not  manage  it,  for  even  a  minister 
has  a  conscience.  Mr.  Partan's  feet  left  two  muddy 
marks  side  by  side  across  the  carpet.  He  made  a 
conscience  of  stepping  over  two  mats  on  his  way 
in.  This  helped  among  other  things  to  make  him 
a  popular  visitor  at  the  manse. 

"  Thank  you,  minister  ;  I'm  no'  that  unco  weel." 
**  Then  are  you  sure  that  you  should  be  out  such 


252  THE  CANDID  FRIEND. 

a  night  ?  "  said  the  minister,  anxious  for  the  welfare 
of  his  parishioner. 

"  But,  as  ye  say  yersel',  Maister  Girmory,  *  When 
duty  calls  or  danger,  be  never  wanting  there.'" 

The  minister's  heart  sank  within  him,  as  a  stone 
sinks  in  a  deep  lake,  for  he  knew  that  the  "  candid 
friend  "  had  found  him  out  once  more — and  that 
his  tenderest  mercies  were  cruel.  But  he  kept  a 
discreet  and  resigned  silence.  If  the  minister  had 
a  fault,  said  his  friends,  it  was  that  he  was  too 
quiet. 

"Weel,  minister,"  said  Tammas  Partan,  "  I  just 
cam'  up  my  ways  the  nicht  to  see  ye,  and  tell  ye 
what  the  folk  were  sayin'.  I  wadna  be  a  frien' 
till  ye  gin  I  didna.  Faithfu',  ye  ken,  are  the 
wounds  of  a  friend  !  " 

The  minister  looked  at  the  fire.  He  was  not  a 
man  inclined  to  think  more  highly  of  himself  than 
he  ought  to  think,  and  he  knew  that  before  Tam- 
mas Partan  had  done  with  his  recital  he  would  be 
too  upset  to  continue  with  his  Sabbath  morning's 
sermon  on  "  The  Fruits  of  the  Spirit,"  at  least  for 
that  night.  It  was  not  the  first  time  that  Tammas 
had  "  thocht  it  his  duty  "  to  come  in  at  the  critical 
moment  and  introduce  some  sand  into  the  bear- 
ings. Had  the  minister  been  a  stronger  or  a  more 
emphatic  man,  he  would  have  told  his  visitor  that 


THE  CANDID  FRIEND.  S53 

he  did  not  want  to  hear  his  stories,  or  at  least  he 
would  have  so  received  them  that  they  would  not 
have  been  told  a  second  time.  But  the  minister  of 
Dule  was  acutely  sensitive  to  blame,  and  the  pain 
of  a  cruel  word  or  an  intentional  slight  would  keep 
him  sleepless  for  nights.  It  is  in  such  parishes  as 
Dule  that  "  Tammas  Partans  "  thrive.  He  had  just 
tried  it  once  with  Mr.  Girmory's  predecessor,  one 
of  the  grand  old  school  of  farmer  clerics  now 
almost  extinct.  Tammas  Partan  had  once  at  a 
Fast  Day  service  on  the  Thursday  before  the 
Sacrament  Day,  risen  to  his  feet  and  said  to  old 
Mr.  M'Gowl,  who  was  standing  among  his  elders 
ready  for  the  distribution  of  tokens  : 

"  Remember  the  young  communicants  !  " 
"  Remember  your  own  business  ! "  returned  Mr. 
M'Gowl,  instantly,  at  the  same   time   giving   the 
officious  interrupter  a  sounding  "cuff"  on  the  side 
of  the  head. 

After  which  Tammas,  feeling  that  his  occupa- 
tion was  gone,  joined  himself  to  the  sect  of  the 
Apostolic  Brethren,  at  that  time  making  a  stir  in 
the  neighbourhood,  with  whom  he  was  just  six 
weeks  in  communion  till  they  arose  in  a  body  and 
cast  him  out  of  the  synagogue.  So  he  had  been 
houseless  and  homeless  spiritually  till  Mr.  Girmory 
came,  when  Tammas,  seeing  him  to  be  a  man  after 


254  THE  CANDID  FRIEND. 

his   own   heart,   returned   back  gladly  to  his  old 
nest. 

"  They  are  sayin'  that  there's  no'  eneuch  life  in 
yer  sermons,  minister — nae  grup,  so  to  speak,  kind 
o'  wambly  an'  cauldrife.  Noo,  that's  no'  a  faut  that 
I  wad  like  to  fin'  mysel',  but  that's  what  they're 
sayin',  and  I  thocht  it  my  duty  to  tell  ye." 
"Also  Gashmu  saith  it  I  "  said  the  minister. 
"  What  did  ye  say  ?  Na,  it  wasna  him  ;  it  was 
Rab  Flint,  the  quarryman,  and  Andrew  Banks  of 
Carsewall,  that  said  it — I  dinna  ken  the  party  that 
ye  name." 

"  Ay,"  said  the  minister. 

"  An'  Lame  Sandy,  the  soutar,  thocht  that  there 
was  an  awesome  lack  o'  speerituality  in  yer  dis- 
coorse  the  Sabbath  afore  last.  He  asked,  "  Hoo 
could  ony  minister  look  for  a  blessin'  efter  playin' 
a  hale  efternune  at  the  Channel-stanes  wi'  a'  the 
riff-raff  o'  the  neebourhood  ?  '  " 

"  Were  ye  not  there  yersel',  Thomas  ?  "  queried 
the  minister,  quietly,  wondering  how  long  this  was 
going  to  last. 

"  Ou,  ay  ;  I'm  far  frae  denyin'  it — but  it's  no'  my 
ain  opeenions  I'm  giein'  till  ye.  I  wadna  presume 
to  do  that  ;  but  it's  the  talk  o'  the  pairish.  An' 
there's  Gilbert  Loan's  auntie  ;  she  has  been  troubled 
wi'  a  kin  o'  dwaminess  in  her  inside  for  near  three 


THE  CANDID  FRIEND  255 

weeks,  an'  ye've  gane  by  the  door  mair  nor  yince, 
an'  never  looked  the  road  she  was  on,  sae  Gilbert 
an'  a'  his  folk  are  thinkin'  o'  leavin'  the  kirk." 

"  But  I  never  heard  of  it  till  this  minute !  "  pro- 
tested the  minister,  touched  at  last  on  a  tender 
spot.     "  Why  did  they  not  send  me  word  ?  " 

"Weel,  minister,  Gilbert  said  to  me  that  if  ye 
had  nae  better  ken  o'  yer  fowk  than  no'  to  miss 
them  three  Sabbaths  oot  o'  the  back  gallery,  they 
werena  gaun  to  bemean  themsel's  to  sen'  ye  nae 
word." 

The  minister  could  just  see  over  the  pulpit 
cushion  as  far  as  the  bald  spot  on  the  precentor's 
head,  but  he  said  nothing. 

At  this  point  there  was  a  diversion,  for  the 
minister's  wife  came  in.  She  was  not  tall  in 
stature,  but  to  Tammas  she  loomed  up  now  like 
a  Jael  among  women.  The  minister  rose  to  give 
her  a  seat,  but  she  had  not  come  to  sit  down. 

"  Now,  I  would  have  you  understand  once  for  all, 
Tammas  Partan,"  she  began — ("  Weel  dune  the 
mistress  ! "  said  Marget,  low  to  herself,  behind  the 
door) — "  that  we  have  had  more  than  enough  of 
this !  I've  heard  every  word  ye've  said  to  Mr. 
Girmory,  for  the  door  was  left  open  " — ("  I  saw  to 
that  mysel',"  said  Marget) — "  and  I  want  you  to 
carry  no  more  parish  clashes  into  my  house." 


256  THE  CANDID  FRIEND. 

"  Hush,  hush  !  my  dear  ;  Tammas  means  well ! " 
said  the  minister,  deprecatingly. 

But  the  belligerent  little  woman  did  not  hear,  or 
at  any  rate  did  not  heed,  for  she  continued  ad- 
dressing herself  directly  to  Tammas,  who  sat  on 
the  low  chair  as  if  he  had  been  dropped  there 
unexpectedly  from  a  great  height. 

•'Take  for  granted,"  she  said,  "  that  whatever  is 
for  the  minister's  good  to  hear,  that  he'll  hear  with- 
out your  assistance.  And  you  can  tell  your  friends, 
Rob  Flint  and  Andrew  Banks,  that  if  they  were 
earlier  out  of  the  '  Red  Lion  '  on  Saturday  night, 
and  earlier  up  on  the  Sabbath  morning,  they  would 
maybe  be  able  to  appreciate  the  sermon  better  ; 
and  ye  can  tell  Lame  Sandy,  the  soutar,  that  when 
he  stops  wearing  his  wife  into  the  grave  with  his 
ill  tongue,  he  may  have  some  right  to  find  fault 
with  the  minister  for  an  afternoon  on  the  ice. 
And  as  for  Gilbert  Loan's  auntie,  just  ask  her  if 
she  let  the  doctor  hear  about  her  trouble,  or  if  she 
expects  him  to  look  in  and  ask  her  if  there's 
anything  the  matter  with  her  little  finger  every 
time  he  passes  her  door  ! " 

She  paused  for  breath. 

"  I  think  I'll  hae  to  be  gaun  ;  it's  a  coorse  nicht ! " 
said  the  Object  on  the  chair,  staggering  to  its  feet. 

"  Now,  Thomas,  no  offence  is  meant,  and  I  hope 


THE  CANDID  FRIEND.  257 

you'll  remember  that  I'm  only  speaking  for  your 
good,"  said  the  minister's  wife,  taking  a  parting 
shot  at  a  venture,  and  scoring  a  bull's-eye, 

"  Guid-nicht,  Tammas  Partan,"  said  Marget,  as 
she  closed  the  door.     "  Haste  ye  back  again." 

But  Tammas  has  not  yet  revisited  the  manse  of 
Dule. 


17 


A   MIDSUMMER  IDYLL. 

THE  THREE  BRIDEGROOMS  AND  THE  ONE 

BRIDE. 

Yes,  sir,  I  am  the  Registrar  of  births,  deaths,  and 
marriages  in  the  parish  of  Kilconquhar,  and  I  am 
asked  to  tell  you  the  story  of  Meg  MacGregor 
and  her  three  lads.  Well,  it's  an  old  tale  now, 
and  Meg's  boys  are  here  every  summer  vacation 
pestering  the  life  out  of  me  to  bait  their  lines  and 
dress  their  hooks.  But  it  is  a  tale  that  is  not  by 
any  means  forgotten  in  Kilconquhar,  and  in  the 
winter  forenights  the  wives  tell  it  to  this  day  in 
the  big  kitchen  where  the  lasses  are  at  their  knit- 
ting and  the  lads  are  making  baskets  of  the  long 
saugh  wands  before  the  heartsome  fire. 

It  was  mostly  the  wild  Gregor  blood  that  did  it ; 
but  Meg's  mother  was  an  Elliot  from  the  Border, 
and  we  all  know  that  that's  not  greatly  better.  So 
what  could  ye  expect  of  a  lassie  that  had  the  daft- 
ness in  her  from  both  sides  of  the  house,  as  ye 

might  say  ? 

■If 


A  MIDSUMMER  IDYLL.  259 

Meg  was  a  beauty.  There  is  no  doubt  of  that. 
She  had  been  a  big-boned  "hempie  "  at  the  Kirk- 
land  school  for  many  a  day,  playing  with  the 
laddies  when  they  would  let  her,  early  and  late. 
Yet  clever  at  her  books  when  she  would  take  the 
trouble  to  learn.  She  had  the  "  birr "  and  go  of 
twenty  in  her  from  the  time  that  she  could  run 
alone.  Peter  Adair,  one  of  her  lads  that  was  to 
be,  came  roaring  in  to  his  mother  one  morning 
when  she  was  a  dotting  wee  thing  of  four  or 
five. 

"  What  for  are  ye  greetin'  like  that,  Peter  ? "  said 
his  mother.  "  Wha  has  been  meddlin'  ye  ?  "  Peter 
was  soft  in  disposition,  but  the  apple  of  his  mother's 
eye. 

"Meg  MacGregor  dadded  my  lugs  because  I 
wadna  let  her  kiss  me,"  said  the  gallant  Peter, 
between  his  sobs. 

His  mother  laughed.  "  Dinna  greet,  my  bonny 
wean,"  she  said  ;  "  the  day'll  ma)  be  come  when 
ye'll  change  yer  mind  aboot  that !  " 

But  when  that  day  did  come,  his  mother  did  not 
like  it  nearly  so  well  as  she  had  expected. 

When  Meg  was  between  sixteen  and  seventeen 
it  suddenly  occurred  to  everybody  that  she  was  a 
beauty.  It  was  at  a  party  at  the  New  Year  at  the 
Folds,  and  Meg  went  there  in  a  white  gown.     She 


26o  A  MIDSUMMER  IDYLL. 

had  been  at  the  dancing-school  that  Fiddler  Stewart 
had  in  the  village  that  winter,  and  she  got  very 
fond  of  the  dancing.  There  were  two  or  three  lads 
at  the  Folds  from  the  next  parish,  and  as  soon  as 
the  dancing  began  there  was  nobody  that  was 
sought  after  but  only  that  hempie  Meg. 

The  very  next  day  it  was  a  different  Meg  that 
walked  the  street,  and  a  different  Meg  it  was  that 
came  to  the  kirk  on  the  Sabbath.  She  rode  no 
more  astride  of  the  wildest  pony  in  the  glen,  but 
she  twined  the  lads  like  rushes  of  the  meadows 
round  the  least  of  her  fingers.  Her  father  was 
then,  as  he  is  to  this  day,  farmer  in  Stanninstane, 
and  as  douce  and  civil  a  man  as  there  is  in  the 
parish,  so  the  wild  blood  must  have  skipped  a 
generation  somehow.  Say  you  so,  sir  ?  Indeed,  I 
did  not  know  that  such  a  thing  could  be  explained 
scientifically,  but  it's  a  thing  I  have  noticed  time 
and  again.  "//  has  been  recently  discovered"  you 
say.  Dear  me,  1  did  not  know  it  had  ever  been 
forgotten.  "  Unto  the  third  and  fourth  genera- 
tion "  is  an  old  saying  enough,  but  it's  not  unlikely 
that  the  wise  men  have  forgotten  all  about 
Moses. 

Isobel  Elliot,  David  MacGregor's  wife,  died 
when  Meg  was  but  a  lassie,  and  David  himself 
never  laid  hand  on  his  daughter  in  the  way  of  cor- 


A  MIDSUMMER  IDYLL.  261 

rection  all  his  life.  She  did  as  she  liked  with  her 
father  all  the  days  of  her  life — as,  indeed,  for  the 
matter  of  that,  she  did  with  every  one  in  this 
parish,  with  the  very  minister  when  the  fit  was  on 
her,  as  ye  shall  hear 

"  With  yourself,  for  instance,  Registrar  ?  " 

Me?  Oh,  no,  sir.  I'm  a  man  that  is  well 
stricken  in  years  and  she  would  not  trouble  with 
me,  but  I  do  not  deny  that  there  was  that  in  the 
lassie  that  one  could  not  help  but  like,  though  as 
an  elder  I  felt  it  my  duty  to  give  her  a  word  of 
caution  and  advice  more  than  once  or  twice. 

What  said  she  to  that  ?  Well,  sir,  she  said  not 
much ;  but  she  turned  her  eyes  up  at  me  under  the 
fringes  of  her  eyelashes,  and  pushing  out  her  red 
lips  discontentedly  she  said  : 

"  What  can  I  do  ?  The  lads  will  not  let  me 
alone.     I'm  sure  I  want  none  of  them  !  " 

"  And  what  are  you  going  to  do,  Meg  ?  "  said  I, 
smiling-like  at  her. 

"  Indeed,  Registrar,"  says  she,  "  that  I  don't 
know.  Unless  " — here  the  witch  looked  shyly  up 
at  me  with  her  eyes  fairly  swimming  in  mischief — 
"unless  ye  maybe  micht  tak'  me  yoursel'." 

Keenest  of  all  her  suitors — "  clean  daft "  about 
her,  said  the  countryside — were  three  lads  of  the 
parish.      The    first    I    have    mentioned    already 


262  A  MIDSUMMER  IDYLL. 

Peter  Adair  was  his  mother's  son.     She   h'ved  in 
the  large  house  with  the  gate  that  stood  a  Httle 
back  from   the  village  street  by  the    side  of  the 
bridge.      She    had     money,   and     Peter    bemg    a 
delicate  lad    in    his   mother's   estimation,  and   the 
apple  of  her  eye  at  all   times,  had   been   kept  at 
home  when   he  should    have  been   learning  some 
profession.     There  was  now  and  then  a  talk  of  his 
going  up  to  Edinburgh  to  learn  the  scientific  farm- 
ing before  he  took  a  farm  of  his  own,  but  it  had 
never  come  to  anything.     He  had  fallen  madly  in 
love  with    Meg,  however,  and    went    regularly   to 
town  on  Wednesdays  to  have  a  chance  of  talking 
with  her  for  five  minutes  as  she  went   about  her 
shopping.     His  mother  had  so  far  yielded  to  his 
wishes  as  to  get  David  MacGregor  to  take  him  on 
at  Stanninstane  to  try  his  hand  at  the  practical  part 
of  farming.     He  was   in  ecstasy,  for,  thought  he, 
who  knows  what  opportunities  there    may    be  of 
seeing   Meg   in  the  intervals  of  daily  duty.     But 
when    David  handed   him  over  to  the  grieve,  that 
unsympathetic     Ayrshire     man     said,    "Practical 
fermin' !     Certie,  he  shall  hae  that   or  my  name's 
no'  James  Greg !  "     Whereupon  in  five  minutes  the 
delicate-handed   Peter  found  himself  on  the  top  of 
a  cart   with   a   fork   in   his   hand,   taking   his   first 
lesson    in    practical    farming  by  learning   how   to 


A  MIDSUMMER  IDYLL.  263 

apply  to  the  soil  the  natural  fertilisers  necessary 
for  next  year's  crop.  He  had  two  days  of  that, 
when  he  resigned  and  went  home,  having  decided 
that  after  all  scientific  farming  was  most  in  his 
line. 

Peter  Adair  was  known  to  be  rich — at  least  in 
expectations — but  nobody  thought  that  Meg  would 
favour  him  on  that  account.  Being  an  heiress  in 
her  own  right,  she  had  no  need.  It  was,  therefore, 
with  very  great  surprise  that  I  was  called  into 
the  office  where  I  do  my  registrar's  business,  and 
authorised  by  Peter  to  put  up  his  name  on  the 
board  along  with  that  of  Margaret  MacGregor, 
spinster,  also  of  this  parish. 

"  Meg's  at  the  door,"  he  said  ;  "  but  she  did  not 
like  to  come  in." 

Accordingly  I  went  to  the  door,  and  caught 
a  glimpse  of  Meg  vanishing  into  Webster  the 
draper's,  two  doors  above. 

Peter  had  not  long  gone  his  way  when  another 
knock  came  to  the  door. 

I  opened  the  door  myself.  It  was  just  growing 
dusk,  and  I  could  hear  Meg  MacGregor's  voice 
saying  : 

"  I  tolled  ye  afore,  ye  can  gie  in  the  names  if  ye 
like,  but  I'll  no  tell  ye  whether  I'll  hae  ye  or  no' 
till  the  first  of   August.      That's  my  twenty-first 


264  A  MIDSUMMER  IDYLL. 

birthday,  and  I'll  no'  hae  a  mind  o'  my  ain  till  that 
day." 

Again  a  single  man  came  into  the  little  office, 
lighted  with  the  oil  lamp  which  always  smelled  a 
little  when  I  had  the  trimming  of  it  to  do  myself. 
It  was  Robert  Hislop,  the  stalwart  son  of  the 
farmer  of  Netherton,  known  to  be  the  strongest 
man  in  the  parish.  He  had  waited  many  a  long 
night  to  have  the  duty  of  taking  Meg  home  from 
all  the  soirees  and  parties  in  the  neighbourhood. 
He  was  a  steadfast,  sturdy,  and  stupid  fellow  who 
had  first  of  all  come  about  the  Stanninstane  farm- 
house to  court  Meg's  younger  sister  Bess  ;  but  who, 
like  a  piece  of  loose  paper  on  the  platform  of  a 
wayside  station  when  the  "  Flying  Scotsman " 
thunders  through,  had  been  drawn  into  the  wake 
of  the  greater  power. 

The  story  which  connected  him  with  Meg  was 
one  very  characteristic  of  the  man.  He  had  been 
seeing  Meg  and  her  sister  home  from  some  party 
over  at  the  village,  and  they  had  got  as  far  on 
their  way  as  the  dark  avenue  under  the  trees 
where  the  white  gate  of  the  manse  and  the  black 
gate  of  the  kirkyard  face  one  another  in  a  weird 
whispering  silence  under  the  arch  of  leaves.  There 
had  been  stories  of  a  ghost  which  walked  there, 
and  Bess  MacGregor  was  in   a  state  of   nervous 


A  MIDSUMMER  IDYLL.  265 

excitement.  Meg  alternately  played  with  and 
laughed  at  the  fears  of  her  sister.  As  they  came 
between  the  gates  something  white  leapt  along  the 
wall  with  an  elrich  shriek  and  stood  gibbering 
upon  the  black  gate  of  the  kirkyard. 

Bess  MacGregor  dropped  instantly  in  a  faint. 
Stalwart  Rob  Hislop  took  one  troubled  glance  at 
her.  Then  putting  her  into  the  hands  of  her  sister 
he  said,  "  Pit  some  sna'  on  her  face  ;  I'll  be  back 
the  noo ! " 

The  spectre  did  not  wait  to  be  pursued,  but 
made  off  swiftly  among  the  tombs,  its  white  robes 
flying  in  the  wind.  Rob  Hislop  went  after  it  with 
the  intentness  of  a  greyhound  on  the  trail.  He 
caught  his  foot  in  some  twisted  grass,  fell  heavily, 
but  rose  again  in  an  instant.  He  saw  the  spectre 
leap  the  wall  and  take  the  way  through  the  fir- 
wood.  Swifter  than  before  he  followed,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  he  ran  the  ghost  down  in  a  glade  into 
which  the  moon  was  peeping  over  the  edge  of  a 
cloud.  The  ghost  hollaoed  for  mercy  as  Rob's 
heavy  weight  came  down  upon  him. 

"  Let  me  up,"  he  said  ;  "  it's  only  fun.  I'm  Tam 
M'Kittrick  frae  the  Gallaberry  !  " 

"  Stan'  up,  then,  Tam  M'Kittrick  frae  the  Galla- 
berry,  for  I'm  gaun  to  gie  ye  the  best  lickin'  ye 
ever  got  in  your  life  !  " 


266  A  MIDSUMMER  IDYLL. 

Next  morning  Rob  was  down  at  the  village 
bright  and  early,  before  Purdie  the  grocer,  that 
sells  drugs  to  us  when  there's  not  time  to  go  to 
Dumfries  for  them,  had  down  his  shutters.  He 
rapped  at  his  door,  and  Purdie  opened  it. 

"  Onybody  no'  weel,  Rob  ?  "  he  says,  astonished 
like. 

"  Hoo  muckle  stickin'  plaister  hae  ye,  Maister 
Purdie  ?  "  says  Rob,  anxiously. 

"  I  dinna  ken,"  said  the  grocer,  retreating  into 
his  shop  to  see  ;  "  maybes  a  yaird  or  a  yaird  an'  a 
quarter." 

"  Then  ye  had  better  gie  me  a  yaird  an'  a 
quarter  !  "  answered  Rob,  instantly. 

"  Preserve  us  a',  Rob,  what's  wrang  ?  Hae  a' 
your  kye  fallen  intil  the  quarry  hole  ?  " 

"  Na,"  said  Rob,  seriously  ;  "  it's  for  Tarn 
M'Kittrick  o'  the  Gallaberry.  He  was  playing 
bogles  up  by  the  minister's  liggate  yestreen,  an'  I 
misdoot  but  he  fell  and  hurt  himsel'  1  " 


Now,  sir,  you'll  hardly  believe  me,  though  I  can 
show  you  the  notices  in  a  minute,  but  that  very 
nicht  on  the  back  of  ten  o'clock  there  was  another 
knock  came  on  the  door,  and  in  comes  Frank 
Armstrong,  the  young  son  of  the  farmer  of  Lint- 


A  MIDSUMMER  IDYLL.  267 

field,  whose  ground  marches  with  that  of  David 
MacGregor. 

"  Are  you  going  to  be  married  to  Meg  Mac- 
Gregor ?  "  said  I,  laughing. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  surprised.  "  Hoo  did  ye  ken 
that,  Registrar?" 

You  might  have  knocked  me  down  with  a  straw. 
There  were  three  bridegrooms  to  one  bride. 

"  Did  Meg  tell  ye  ye  were  to  come  an'  gie  in  the 
names  .''  "  said  I. 

"  Ay,"  said  the  boy,  blushing  to  the  roots  of  his 
fair  hair,  for  he  was  only  a  year  older  than  Meg 
herself,  and  did  not  look  his  years. 

"  We  made  it  up  when  I  was  harvesting  there 
last  year  ;  but  Meg,  she  wad  never  gie  a  decided 
answer  till  the  nicht." 

"  What  did  she  say  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  She  said  that  she  was  to  be  married  on  her 
twenty-first  birthday,  but  that  she  wadna  tell  me 
whether  she  wad  hae  me  till  we  were  afore  the 
minister.  '  But  ye  can  pit  up  the  names  gin  ye 
like,'  says  she." 

So  all  the  names  were  put  up. 

There  never  was  such  a  day  on  the  street  of  this 
village  as  what  there  was  that  day.  I  had  to  lock 
myself  in,  front  and  back,  and  get  my  groceries 
through  the   window    in    the    gable    end,   but    I 


268  A  MIDSUMMER  IDYLL. 

answered  no  questions,  the  young  men  held  their 
counsel,  and  Meg  was  away  from  home. 

Some  one  went  to  see  the  minister  and  inform 
him  of  the  scandal.  But  they  came  away  with  a 
flea  in  their  lug,  for  the  minister  told  them  that 
Meg  herself  had  trysted  him  to  marry  her  at 
Stanninstane  on  the  ist  of  August. 

"And  who  did  she  say  was  the  young  man?" 
inquired  the  deputation. 

"Well,"  said  the  minister,  running  his  hand 
through  his  white  locks,  "  I  don't  think  she  said, 
but  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  is  worthy  of  her.  I 
have  a  very  high  opinion  of  Margaret's  common 
sense  and  practical  ability." 

"Preserve  us,  she's  made  a  fule  o'  the  verra 
minister  !  "  said  the  gossips. 

There  was  nothing  talked  about  but  the  marriage 
as  the  1st  of  August  came  on.  I  got  an  invite 
from  David  himself,  who  kept  a  very  straight  upper 
lip  on  the  subject.  There  were  many  that  went 
up  to  the  Stanninstane  loaning  end  to  see  what  was 
to  come  of  it,  but  they  got  no  farther,  for  there  was 
David  MacGregor's  two  brothers  from  the  High- 
lands with  big  sticks,  dour  and  determined  chiels, 
and  they  let  nobody  pass  but  them  that  were 
invited. 

When   we   got   there   we  were  shown  into   the 


A  MIDSUMMER  IDYLL.  269 

parlour,  where  about  twenty  of  a  company  were 
assembled.  Bess  moved  about  as  shy  and  sweet 
as  any  girl  need  be.  Out  of  the  reach  of  the  more 
brilliant  attractions  of  her  sister,  she  was  a  very 
pretty  young  woman.  Soon  the  minister  came  in. 
Peter  Adair  sat  and  simpered  on  the  sofa  in  his 
lavender  kids.  Rob  Hislop  looked  exceedingly 
uncomfortable  in  a  black  suit  and  a  white  rose 
which  Bess  had  pinned  in  his  button-hole.  It  took 
a  long  time  to  pin,  for  Rob  is  very  tall,  and  Bess 
could  hardly  reach  so  far  up.  During  the  operation 
Rob  went  red  and  white  by  turns,  and  looked 
pitifully  at  Bess.  I  thought  that  he  was  trying 
vainly  to  read  her  sister's  decision  in  her  eyes,  but 
it  turned  out  that  I  was  wrong. 

Sharp  at  the  stroke  of  four  David  brought  Meg 
in  on  his  arm.  She  looked  radiant  in  fleecy  white, 
and  her  hair  in  rippling  waves  like  the  edges  of 
the  little  clouds  when  the  sun  begins  to  think  about 
going  to  bed.  Well,  yes,  sir,  if  I  am  a  crusty  old 
bachelor,  I  thank  God  I  was  not  born  blind. 

"  Let  the  parties  take  their  place,"  said  the 
minister. 

Meg  looked  wildly  about. 

"  Where's  Frank  ?  "  she  cried,  going  suddenly  as 
white  as  her  dress. 

"  He  has  not  come  yet,"  said  Bess,  as  sweet  as 


270  A  MIDSUMMER  IDYLL. 

a  ripe  gooseberry,  looking  innocently  at  her  sister 
"  Rob  Hislop  says  he  saw  him  working  in  the  barn!" 
Meg  dropped  into  a  chair.  "  It  serves  me  right  I" 
she  said,  beginning  to  sob.  "  It  serves  me  quite 
right  I'll  not  be  married  to  anybody  but  Frank. 
I've  been  a  wicked  girl,  and  I  deserve  it !  " 

So  she  sat  and  cried  while  all  of  us  looked 
helplessly  on.  Sometimes  she  glanced  up  at  us, 
with  the  tears  running  steadily  down  her  cheeks 
and  dripping  on  the  thin  white  of  her  marriage 
dress. 

Bess  stood  by  the  side  of  Rob  Hislop  very 
demure  and  quiet,  but  with  a  curious  light  on  her 
face. 

"Run,"  she  said  suddenly  to  Rob,  "and  bring 
Frank  Armstrong  here  this  minute. 

And  Rob  Hislop,  glad  to  find  something  to  do, 
started  immediately.  Peter  Adair  went  after  him, 
but  ere  they  were  clear  of  the  house  Meg  suddenly 
started  from  her  chair  and  disappeared  into  the 
part  of  the  house  from  which  she  had  come.  In  a 
minute  I  followed  the  others  to  the  door,  and  as  I 
got  to  the  end  of  the  house  I  caught  one  glimpse 
of  Meg  MacGregor's  white  frock  vanishing  down 
the  woodside  path  which  led  in  the  direction  of 
Lintfield.  Rob  Hislop  and  Peter  Adair  had  taken 
the  same  direction,    but  had   gone  round  by    the 


A  MIDSUMMER  IDYLL.  271 

highway.  It  is  said  that  Meg  found  Frank  Arm- 
strong in  the  barn  getting  the  reaper  ready  for  the 
harvest.  But  no  one  knows  what  she  said  to  him. 
This  only  is  certain,  that  in  a  Httle  Frank  and  Meg 
came  arm  in  arm  along  the  plantation  path,  his 
father  and  brother  following  full  of  surprise. 
Frank  was  dressed  in  his  working  suit,  but  for 
all  that  he  looked  a  bright  and  handsome  bride- 
groom. 

Soon  the  two  messengers  came  in,  much  out  of 
breath. 

Meg  went  up  to  them  and  said,  "  Rob,  you'll  be 
best  man  and  tak'  in  Bessie.  It  was  her  ye  aye 
likit  best  at  ony  rate  !  " 

"  I'll  no'  say  but  ye're  richt !  "  said  Rob,  obe- 
diently giving  his  arm  to  the  blushing  Bessie. 

"And,  Peter,  you'll  forgive  me,  I'm  sure.  It's 
for  the  best,  an'  I  wad  never  have  got  on  wi'  yer 
mither ! " 

Peter  extended  his  hand  with  the  lavender  glove 
still  on  it. 

"  Weel,"  he  said,  "  maybes  it'll  be  a  relief  to  her!" 

So  Frank  Armstrong  married  Meg  MacGregor 
on  her  twenty-first  birthday  in  his  working  coat, 
and  it  was  not  long  before  Rob  Hislop  married 
Bessie  in  new  Sunday  "  blacks." 

Peter  Adair  still  lives  with  his  mother  in   the 


272  A  MIDSUMMER  IDYLL. 

house  with  the  green  gate  by  the  bridge.  He  has 
started  a  poultry  show,  for  he  has  become  a  great 
pigeon  fancier.  Meg's  boys  spend  most  of  their 
time  with  him  when  they're  here.  But  what  put 
the  ploy  into  the  madcap  lassie's  head  is  more 
than  I  can  tell.  In  my  way  of  thinking  it  was 
just  the  wild  blood  of  the  MacGregors  of  the 
Highlands,  and  indeed  the  Border  Elliots  are 
little  better.     As  is,  indeed,  generally  admitted. 


-'• 


THE  TUTOR  OF  CURL  YWEE 

The  Minister  of  Education  started  to  walk  across 
the  great  moors  of  the  Kells  Range  so  early  in  the 
morning  that  for  the  first  time  for  twenty  years  he 
saw  the  sun  rise.  Strong,  stalwart,  unkemp,  John 
Bradfield,  Right  Honourable  and  Minister  of  the 
Queen,  strode  over  the  Galloway  heather  in  his 
rough  homespun.  "  Ursa  Major"  they  called  him 
in  the  House.  His  colleagues,  festive  like  school- 
boys before  the  Old  Man  with  the  portfolios  came 
in,  subscribed  to  purchase  him  a  brush  and  comb 
for  his  hair,  for  the  jest  of  the  Cabinet  Minister  is 
even  as  the  jest  of  the  schoolboy.  John  Bradfield 
was  sturdy  in  whatever  way  you  might  take  him. 
Only  last  session  he  had  engineered  a  great 
measure  of  popular  education  through  the  House 
of  Commons  in  the  face  of  the  antagonism,  bitter 
and  unscrupulous,  of  Her  Majesty's  Opposition, 
and  the  GalHo  lukewarmness  of  his  own  party. 
So  now  there  was  a  ripple  of  great  contentment 

iS  379 


274  THE  TUTOR  OF  CURL  YWEE. 

in  the  way  he  shook  back  locks  which  at  forty-five 
were  as  raven  black  as  they  had  been  at  twenty- 
five,  and  the  wind  that  blew  gently  over  the  great 
billowy  expanse  of  rock  and  heather  smoothed  out 
some  of  the  crafty  crow's  feet  deepening  about  his 
eyes. 

When  he  started  on  a  thirty-mile  walk  over  the 
moors,  along  the  dark  purple  precipitous  slopes 
above  Loch  Trool,  the  glory  of  summer  was  melting 
into  the  more  Scottish  splendours  of  a  fast  coming 
autumn,  for  the  frost  had  held  off  long,  and  then  in 
one  night  had  bitten  snell  and  keen.  The  birches 
wept  sunshine,  and  the  rowan  trees  burned  red 
fire. 

The  Minister  of  Education  loved  the  great 
spaces  of  the  Southern  uplands,  at  once  wider  and 
eerier  than  those  of  the  Highlands.  There  they 
lie  waiting  for  their  laureate.  No  one  has  sung  of 
them  nor  written  in  authentic  rhyme  the  strange 
weird  names  which  the  mountain  tops  bandy  about 
among  each  other,  appellations  hardly  pronounce- 
able to  the  southron.  John  Brad  field,  however, 
had  enough  experience  of  the  dialect  of  the 
"  Tykes  "  of  Yorkshire  to  master  the  intricacies  of 
the  nomenclature  of  the  Galloway  uplands.  He 
even  understood  and  could  pronounce  the  famous 
quatrain — 


THE  TUTOR  OF  CURL  YWEE.  275 

**The  Slock,  Milquharker,  and  Craignine, 
The  Breeshie  and  Craignaw  ; 
The  five  best  hills  for  corklit, 
That  ere  the  Star  wife  saw.''  • 

The  Minister  of  Education  hummed  this  rhyme, 
which  he  had  learned  the  night  before  from  his 
host  in  the  tall  tower  which  stands  by  the  gate  of 
the  Ferrytown  of  Cree.  As  he  made  his  way  with 
long  svv'inging  gait  over  the  heather,  travelling  by 
compass  and  the  shrewd  head  which  the  Creator 
had  given  him,  he  was  aware  about  midday  of  a 
shepherd's  hut  which  lay  in  his  track.  He  went 
briskly  up  to  the  door,  passing  the  little  pocket-i 
handkerchief  of  kail-yaird  which  the  shepherd  had 
carved  out  of  the  ambient  heather.  The  purple 
bells  grew  right  up  to  the  wall  of  grey  stone  dyke 
which  had  been  built  to  keep  out  the  deer,  or  may- 
hap occasionally  to  keep  them  in,  when  the  land 
was  locked  with  snow,  and  vension  was  toothsome. 

"  Good  day  to  you,  mistress,"  said  the  Minister 
of  Education,  who  prided  himself  on  speaking  to 
every  woman  in  her  own  tongue. 

'  In  old  times  the  rocks  and  cliffs  of  the  Dungeon  of 
Biichan  were  famous  for  a  kind  of  moss  known  as  "  corklit,'' 
used  for  dyeing,  the  gathering  of  which  formed  part  of  the 
livelihood  of  the  peasantry.  At  one  time  it  was  much  used 
for  dyeing  soldiers'  red  coats. — Harper's  Rambles  in  Gallo- 
way. 


276  THE  TUTOR  OF  CURLYWEE. 

"  And  good  day  to  you,  sir,"  heartily  returned 
the  sonsy,  rosy-cheeked  goodwife,  who  came  to  the 
door,  "  an'  blithe  I  am  to  see  ye.  It's  no  that  aften 
that  I  see  a  body  at  the  Back  Hoose  o'  Curlywee.*' 

John  Bradfield  soon  found  himself  well  enter- 
tained— fades  of  cake,  crisp  and  toothsome,  milk 
from  the  cow,  with  golden  butter  in  a  lordly  dish, 
cheese  from  a  little  round  kebbuck,  which  the 
mistress  of  the  Back  House  of  Curlywee  kept 
covered  up  with  a  napkin  to  keep  it  moist. 

The  goodwife  looked  her  guest  all  over. 

"  Ye'll  not  be  an  Ayrshire  man  nae,  I'm  thinkin'. 
Ye  kind  o'  favour  them  in  the  features,  but  ye  hae 
the  tongue  o'  the  English." 

"  My  name  is  John  Bradfield,  and  I  come  from 
Yorkshire,"  was  the  reply. 

"  An'  my  name's  Mistress  Glencairn,  an'  my  man 
Tammas  is  herd  on  Curlywee.  But  he's  awa' 
ower  by  the  Wolf's  Slock  the  day  lookin'  for 
some  forwandered  yowes." 

The  Minister  of  Education,  satisfied  with  the 
good  cheer,  bethought  himself  of  the  curly  heads 
that  he  had  seen  about  the  door.  There  was  a 
merry  face,  brown  with  the  sun,  brimful  of  mischief, 
looking  round  the  corner  of  the  lintel  at  that 
moment.  Suddenly  the  head  fell  forward  and  the 
body  tumultuously    followed,    evidently   by    some 


THE  TUTOR  OF  CURLYWEE.  277 

sudden  push  from  behind.  The  small  youth  re- 
covered himself  and  vanished  through  the  door, 
before  his  mother  had  time  to  do  more  than  say, 

"  My  certes,  gin    I    catch  you  loons ,"  as  she 

made  a  dart  with  the  handle  of  the  besom  at  the 
culprit 

For  a  little  John  Bradfield  was  left  alone.  There 
were  sounds  of  a  brisk  castigation  outside,  as  though 
some  one  were  taking  vigorous  exercise  on  tightly 
stretched  corduroy.  "  And  on  the  mere  the 
wailing  died  away  ! " 

"  They're  good  lads  eneuch,"  said  the  mistress, 
entering  a  little  breathless,  and  with  the  flush 
of  honest  endeavour  in  her  eye,  "  but  when  their 
faither's  oot  on  the  hill  they  get  a  wee  wild.  But 
as  ye  see,  I  try  to  bring  them  up  in  the  way  that 
they  should  go,"  she  added,  setting  the  broomstick 
in  the  corner. 

"  What  a  pity,"  said  the  Minister  of  Education, 
"  that  such  bright  little  fellows  should  grow  up 
in  this  lonely  spot  without  an  education." 

He  was  thinking  aloud  more  than  speaking  to 
his  hostess.  The  herd's  wife  of  Curlywee  looked 
him  over  with  a  kind  of  pity  mingled  with  con- 
tempt. 

"  Edicated  !  Did  ye  say  ?  My  certes,  but  my 
bairns   are  as  weel  edicated  as  onybody's  bairns. 


278  THE  TUTOR  OF  CURL  YWEE. 

Juist  e'en  try  them,   gin  it  be  your  wull,  sir,  arf 
ye'll  fin'  them  no  that  far  ahint  yer  ain  ! " 

Going  to  the  door  she  raised  her  voice  to  the 
telephonic  pitch  of  the  Swiss  jodel  and  the  Aus- 
traHan  "  coo — ee.'' 

"  Jee-mie,  Aa-leck,  Aa-nie,  come  ye  a'  here  this 
meenit !  " 

The  long  Galloway  vowels  lingered  on  the  still 
air,  even  after  Mistress  Glencairn  came  her  ways 
into  the  house.  There  was  a  minute  of  a  great 
silence  outside.  Then  a  scuffle  of  naked  feet,  the 
sough  of  subdued  whispering,  a  chuckle  of  interior 
laughter,  and  a  prolonged  scuffling  just  outside  the 
window. 

"  Gin  ye  dinna  come  ben  the  hoose  an'  be  douce, 
you  Jeemie,  an'  Rob,  an'  Alick,  I'll  come  till  ye  wi' 
a  stick  !  Mind  ye,  your  faither  'ill  no  be  lang  frae 
hame  the  day." 

A  file  of  youngsters  entered,  hanging  their  heads, 
and  treading  on  each  other's  bare  toes  to  escape 
being  seated  next  to  the  formidable  visitor. 

"  Wull  it  please  ye,  sir,  to  try  the  bairns'  learn- 
ing for  yoursel'." 

A  Bible  was  produced,  and  the  three  boys  and 
their  sister  read  round  in  a  clear  and  definite 
manner,  lengthening  the  vowels  it  is  true,  but 
giving    them    their    proper    sound,   and    clanging 


THE  TUTOR  OF  CURL  YWEE.  279 

their  consonants  like  hammers  ringing  on 
anvils. 

"  Very  good  ! "  said  John  Bradfield,  who  knew 
good  reading  when  he  heard  it 

From  reading  they  went  on  to  spelling,  and  the 
great  Bible  names  were  tried  in  vain.  The 
Minister  of  Education  was  glad  that  he  was 
examiner,  and  not  a  member  of  the  class.  Hebrew 
polysyllables  and  Greek  proper  names  fell  thick 
and  fast  to  the  accurate  aim  of  the  boys,  to  whom 
this  was  child's  play.  History  followed,  geography, 
even  grammar,  maps  were  exhibited,  and  the  rising 
astonishment  of  the  Minister  of  Education  kept 
pace  with  the  quiet  complacent  pride  of  the  Herd's 
Wife  of  Curlywee.  The  examination  found  its 
climax  in  the  recitation  of  the  "Shorter  Catechism." 
Here  John  Bradfield  was  out  of  his  depth,  a  fact 
instantly  detected  by  the  row  of  sharp  examinees. 
He  stumbled  over  the  reading  of  the  questions  ;  he 
followed  the  breathless  enunciation  of  that  expert 
in  the  "  Caratches,"  Jamie,  with  a  gasp  of  astonish- 
ment. Jamie  was  able  to  say  the  whole  of  Effectual 
Calling  in  six  ticks  of  the  clock,  the  result  sound- 
ing to  the  uninitiated  like  the  prolonged  birr  of 
intricate  clockwork  rapidly  running  down. 

"  What  is  the  chief  end  of  man  }  "  slowly  queried 
the  Minister  of  Education,  with  his  eye  on  the  book. 


28o  THE  TUTOR  OF  CURL  YWEE. 

"  Mans-chiefend-glorfyGod-joyi'm-f 'rever  !  "  re- 
turned Jamie  nonchalantly,  all  in  one  word,  as 
though  some  one  had  asked  him  what  was  his  name. 

The  Minister  of  Education  threw  down  his 
Catechism. 

"  That  is  enough.  They  have  all  done  well,  and 
better  than  well.  Allow  me,"  he  said,  doubtfully 
turning  to  his  hostess,  "to  give  them  each  a 
trifle " 

"  Na,  na,"  said  Mistress  Glencairn,  "  let  them 
e'en  do  their  work  withoot  needin'  carrots  hadden 
afore  their  nose  like  a  cuddy.  What  wad  they  do 
wi'  siller  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  will  at  least  permit  me  to  send  them 
each  a  book  by  post — I  suppose  that  you  get 
letters  up  here  occasionally  ?  " 

"  Deed,  there's  no  that  muckle  correspondence 
amang  us,  but  when  we're  ower  at  the  kirk,  there 
yin  o'  the  herds  on  Lamachan  that  gangs  doon  by 
to  see  a  lass  that  leeves  juist  three  miles  frae  the 
post  office,  an'  she  whiles  fetches  ocht  that  there 
may  be  for  us,  an'  he  gi'es  it  us  at  the  kirk." 

John  Bradfield  remembered  his  letters  and 
telegrams  even  now  entering  in  a  steady  stream 
into  his  London  office  and  overflowing  his  minis- 
terial tables,  waiting  his  return — a  solemnising 
thought.      He  resolved  to  build  a  house  on  the 


THE  TUTOR  OF  CURLYWEE.  281 

Back  Hill  of  Curlywee,  and  have  his  letters  brought 
by  way  of  the  kirk  and  the  Lamachan  herd's  lass 
that  lived  three  miles  from  the  post  office. 

"  Oot  v^^i'  ye  !  "  said  the  mistress  briefly,  address- 
ing her  offspring,  and  the  school  scaled  with  a 
tumultuous  rush,  which  left  a  sense  of  vacancy  and 
silence  and  empty  space  about  the  kitchen. 

"  And  now  will  you  tell  me  how  your  children 
are  so  well  taught  ?  "  said  John  Bradfield.  "  How 
far  are  you  from  a  school  ?  " 

"  Weel,  we're  sixteen  mile  frae  Newton  Stewart, 
where  there's  a  schule  but  no  road,  an'  eleven  frae 
the  Clatterin'  Shaws,  where  there's  a  road  but  no 
schule. 

"  How  do  you  manage  then  ?  "  The  Minister 
was  anxious  to  have  the  mystery  solved. 

"  We  keep  a  tutor  ! "  said  the  herd's  wife  of 
Curlywee,  as  calmly  as  though  she  had  been  a 
duchess. 

The  clock  ticked  in  its  shiny  mahogany  case, 
like  a  hammer  on  an  anvil,  so  still  it  was.  The 
cat  yawned  and  erected  its  back.  John  Bradfield's 
astonishment  kept  him  silent. 

"  Keep  a  tutor,"  he  muttered  ;  "  this  beats  all  I 
have  ever  heard  about  the  anxiety  of  the  Scotch 
peasantry  to  have  their  children  educated.  We 
have  nothing  like  this  even  in  Yorkshire." 


2S2  THE  TUTOR  OF  CURLYWEE. 

Then  to  his  hostess  he  turned  and  put  anothei 
question. 

'  And,  if  I  am  not  too  bold,  how  much  might 
your  husband  get  in  the  year  ?  " 

"  Tammas  Glencairn  is  a  guid  man,  though  he's 
my  man,  an'  he  gets  a  good  wage.  He's  wee! 
worthy  o't.  He  gets  three  an'  twenty  pound  in 
the  year,  half  score  o'  yowes,  a  coo's  grass,  a  bow 
o'  meal,  a  bow  o'  pitatas,  an'  as  mony  peats  as  he 
likes  to  cast,  an'  win',  an'  cairt." 

"  But  how,"  said  John  Bradfield,  forgetting  his 
manners  in  his  astonishment,  "  in  the  name  of 
fortune  does  he  manage  to  get  a  tutor  .''  " 

"  He  disna  keep  him.  /  keep  him ! "  said 
Mistress  Glencairn  with  great  dignity. 

The  Minister  of  Education  looked  his  genuine 
astonishment  this  time.  Had  he  come  upon  an 
heiress  in  her  own  right  t 

His  hostess  was  mollified  by  his  humbled  look. 

"  Ye  see,  sir,  it's  this  way,"  she  said,  seating  her- 
self opposite  to  him  on  a  clean-scoured,  white 
wooden  chair,  "  there's  mair  hooses  in  this  neigh- 
boorhood  than  ye  wad  think.  There's  the  farm 
hoose  o'  the  Black  Craig  o'  Dee,  there's  the  herd's 
hoose  o'  Garrary,  the  onstead  o'  Neldricken,  the 
Dungeon  o'  Buchan — an'  a  wheen  mair  that,  gin  I 
telled  ye  the   names  o',   ye   wadna  be  a  bit   the 


THE  TUTOR  OF  CURL  YWEE.  283 

wiser.  Weel,  in  the  simmer  time,  whan  the 
colleges  gang  doon,  we  get  yin  o'  the  college  lads 
to  come  to  this  quarter.  There's  some  o'  them 
fell  fond  to  come.  An'  they  pit  up  for  three  or 
fower  weeks  here,  an'  for  three  or  four  weeks  at 
the  Garrary  ower  by,  an'  the  bairns  travels  ower  to 
whaur  the  student  lad  is  bidin',  an'  gets  their 
learnin'.  Then  when  it's  time  for  the  laddie  to  be 
gaun  his  ways  back  to  college,  we  send  him  awa' 
weel  buskit  wi'  muirland  claith,  an'  weel  providit 
wi*  butter  an'  eggs,  oatmeal  an'  cheese  for  the 
comfort  o'  the  wame  o'  him.  Forbye  we  gather 
up  among  oorsels  an'  bid  him  guid  speed  wi'  a 
maitter  o'  maybe  ten  or  twal'  poun'  in  his  pooch. 
An'  thafs  the  way  we  keep  a  tutor  I  " 


M^ 


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